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THE 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 



THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME, 



DELIVERED UNDER 



i Similiter of a gmm. 



WHEREIN IS DISCOVERED 



THE MANNER OF HIS SETTING OUT, HIS DANGEROUS JOURNEY, 
AND SAFE ARRIVAL AT THE DESIRED COUNTRY. 



BY JOHN BUNYAN. 



3129 ft!) iffflemou* of tTje &utyor l)g fficorge CT^eeber, 3D.B., 

AND ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD BY G., E., AND J. DALZIEL 
FROM DESIGNS BY WILLIAM HARVEY. 

" I have used similitudes." — Hosca xii. 10. 



LONDON: 
H. G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 

MDCCCLXIII. 



7T13330 

.Ai 

JS&3 



LONDON : 

WOODFALL AND KTNDER, PRINTERS, 

ANGEL COURT, SKINNER STREET. 



I 







In preparing tlie present Edition of The Pilgrim's 
Progress for the press, it has been the principal aim of the 
Editor to produce a correct text. At the commencement of 
his undertaking he was inclined to place much reliance on the 
very rare edition of 1688, which it was his good fortune to 
possess — the latest printed in the author's lifetime. He soon 
discovered, however, that, although less erroneous perhaps 
than some of its predecessors, it contained a sufficient amount 
of error, both of omission and of commission, to prevent its 
being implicitly relied on. He was, therefore, under the 
necessity of adopting a general comparison of the various 
editions published previous to the Author's death ; and when 
any discrepancy occurred, to adopt the reading which, in his 
judgment, was most in accordance with Bunyan's style and 
characteristic mode of expression. In this labour much 
assistance has been derived from the edition prepared by 



iv ADVERTISEMENT. 

Mr. Offor for the Hanserd Knollys Society, which exhibits 
with great fidelity the original text, and the various alterations 
which the Author subsequently introduced. 

To Dr. Cheever the publisher is indebted for the very 
interesting Memoir prefixed to the Volume which he kindly 
undertook to prepare for this Edition. Of the Illustrations 
it would be superfluous to speak. The ample Index will, it is 
hoped, be found an important and acceptable addition to the 
usefulness of the "Work. 





Elstow Claurch. 



Jfixttnbxtttojr gl^moir 




AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIMS PROGRESS. 



MAN must not undertake " to gild refined gold, to paint 
the lily ; " but who that is a lover of natural scenery could 
ever be wearied with walking on the solemn shore of the 
ocean, in storm or in calm, or gazing at the sunset, or at 
the midnight moon, or at Mont Blanc morning and evening, 
or at the cataract of Niagara, or at any of God's great works 
in nature ? But His works of grace are more wonderful 
and glorious still ; and they are every one of a mystical and 
inexhaustible variety and profoundness ; so that, examine 
them which way you will, you have never fathomed them, 
never come to the end, — never, indeed, done any thing more 
than just begun to behold and measure the unsearchable 
riches of Christ. 

Now such is the case in wondering at the work of God 
in the new creation of grace of a man like John Bunyan. 
The poets, the critics, and the best literati, may set their sharpest 
shining wits upon the illustration of this work, but they cannot 
overcome its novelty ; it is always beyond them, always as wonderful 
and various as before they undertook to describe it. Neither one 
life, nor three, nor five, nor twenty, of the author of the Pilgrims 
Progress can make the subject trite, nor exhaust it, because God, 
not man, is the Author of the author and the Inspirer of the book. 
So we are content and quiet, while ever so many writers, of ever 
so various professions, record their admiration, and relate their 
thoughts, and pursue the stream of an immortal life, as they 
individually have wandered along its borders. 

b 



VI INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

It is an immortal life, not a record of external events merely ; 
and that is the secret of its powerful interest. And if a man sees 
not, understands not, reveres not that life, — if he has no spiritual 
discernment of it, he is no more fit to trace or describe it than a 
man born blind is adequate to describe the colours of the rainbow 
or a sunset on the Nile. He may, in the most approved and 
exquisite style and language, record the chain of events, and note 
his criticisms upon them ; but what does he see, or what can 
others see through him, of the meaning, the spiritual meaning, of 
such probationary hieroglyphics ? 

John Foster, in his essay on a man's writing memoirs of himself, 
speaks of the immediate causes of the greater portion of the 
prominent actual character of human beings, as certainly to be 
found in those moral elements through which they pass. He speaks 
of the interest with which, if such a thing were possible, a man 
might live back again to his infancy through all the scenes of his 
life, and give back from his mind and character, at each time and 
circumstance, as he repassed it, exactly that which he took from it 
when he was there before, It would be most curious, he says, to 
see the fragments and exuvim of the moral man lying here and there 
along the retrograde path, and to find what he was in the beginning 
of this train of modifications and acquisitions. 

Now we do not know that ever a human being made so near an 
approximation to this process in a perfectly authentic, sincere, 
reliable autobiography, as Buuyan has done in his memoirs of 
himself under the title of Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners. 
If Bunyan had had Foster's suggestion before him, and had 
laboured to carry it out at every step, he could not have laid apart 
more carefully, more curiously, the exuvice of his moral being, 
gathered from childhood onward. And he did this with such 
wonderful truth and accuracy, simply because he was tracing God's 
marvellous providence and grace first of all, and man's agencies 
secondarily, to illustrate that providence and grace. 

Bunyan's whole life, indeed, was grace abounding; that is the 
whole truth; and the pathway and developments of his existence 
ought ever to be examined in that light. The exhibition, man-ward, 
is that of original character, intense and deep, developing itself God- 
ward. It is that of grace changing the character, and then, charac- 
ter and grace united, and wrestling with circumstances, to subdue 
them to God's purposes. And all the way it is a powerful inward 
life, compared with the reality of which external things are but 
shadows. 

The different stages of this life, and the natural attitudes of the 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 



Vll 



man, that are in some measure the exponents of it, even from the 
depths of a native depravity to the participation in a divine holiness, 
are full of interest and instruction. We set out with what Bunyan 
calls my own, "my own natural life; " nothing of God in it, but, on 
the contrary, the life of " the spirit that worketh in the children 
of disobedience." Born at Elstow in 1628, of very poor and incon- 
siderable parents, Bunyan recognises the Divine hand in that it 
pleased God to put it into the hearts of those parents to send their 
child to school, that he might learn to read and write according to 
the rate of other poor men's children; but again, he says that even 
that little learning he almost utterly lost through his absorbedness 
in the vanities, sports, and evil habits of his boyhood. Yet, even 
at that early period, he was terrified with dreams and visions of 
the world of judgment and of woe ; and at the tender age of nine 
years, he thought at times so much of his own guilt, and of the 
utter desperateness of his condition as to any hope of heaven, that, 
in the barbarous simplicity and originality of Iris depravity, he 
wished either that there had been no hell, or that he himself had 
been a devil; for he supposed that the devils were merely 
tormentors of others, and if it must needs be that he himself should 
go into that world of torment, he would prefer the office of tormen- 
tor to the place of the tormented. What a singular contrast 
between the child and the man !— an entire change of disposition ; 
for at any point after his experience of grace, Bunyan, if he had 
felt compelled to make such a choice, would rather have been the 
tormented than the tormentor. But these youthful terrors of hell, 
and these demoniac imaginations, the work of the troubled sea of a 
powerful mind under the broodings of the storm-wings of con- 
science, were soon forgotten amidst 
the activities of sin. "My plea- 
sures," says Bunyan, "did quickly 
cut off the remembrance of them, 
as if they had never been." 

For a picture of Bunyan in his 
boyhood, let the painter go with him 
• into the fields, and simply trace the 
outlines of his own description. His 
youthful companion is gazing upon 
him with terror, as he stands, heed- 
less and daring, with a live adder in 
his hands, forcing open the reptile's 
mouth with a stick, and plucking out 
its sting with his fingers. What a 




Vlll 



INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 



strange and even fierce development of reckless resolution ! Was 
this singular event, through which he passed unharmed, a prophetic 
symbol, under such a wild external form, of the conquering power 
of the future man of grace over sin ? At this time he had but few 
equals for cursing, lying, swearing, and blaspheming the holy name 
of God. These were the growing habits of his childhood ; and a 
fearful precocious ripening there seemed to be in the elements of his 
character for perdition. Whatever he did, he did with energy. 
Had he gone on hi sin, he would have been one of the greatest 
sinners the world ever saw. Nor, though he had some few slight 
checks, did any 
thing, either of 
mercy or of judg- 
ment, stop this 
progress for some 
years. In that 
dread sin of curs- 
ing and swearing 
especially, as we 
have said, his boy- 
hood was formid- 
ably energetic , 
and indeed, until 
the age of more 
than eighteen 
years, he was the 
ringleader of the 
boys in all manner 
of ungodliness. 

The thought or 
name of person- 
al religion was 
during all this 



while so hateful 
to him, that he 
could neither en- 
dure it himself 
nor bear to see 
others enjoying 
it. And yet, with 
all this delight in 
sin, and abandon- 
ment to it, there 
was never a doubt 
in his mind of the 
reality of religion, 
nor any want at 
times of convic- 
tion in regard to 
it. And it was a 
singular point in 
this experience, 
that even then, 
while he could not 
endure either a 
man or a book of 
true piety, and while neither the ideas of heaven nor hell, saving 
nor damning, were admitted into his mind, and while he took delight, 
not only in his own sins, but in the vileness of his companions, he 
had such a clear and delicate perception of the sacredness and awful- 
ness of the Christian profession, that the conviction of his own guilt 
would come more especially upon his soul, and would grow into a 
flame within Mm, if at any time he saw a professor of religion 
"dipping into sin " to hear a man swear profanely who was ac- 
counted a religious man, was as a sword in his soul ; it filled him 
with awe, and made Ms heart tremble. And vet all tliis while he 




author of the pilgrim s progress. ix 

hiinself was becoming more and more profane, careless, and irre- 
ligious. This is almost an anomaly ; we know of no other instance 
like it on record. It seemed as if there were a citadel of conviction 
in Bunyan's soul, into which the evil spirit had not been permitted 
to penetrate, and into which Christ would first come by His grace, 
and from that point drive out the strong man armed, and take pos- 
session. 

In all this account of Bunyan's youthful wickedness, it is plain 
that there is no exaggeration ; the boy's profaneness, for example, 
was so exceedingly intense and dreadful, that profane and irreligious 
persons themselves were shocked by it. He stood thus one day, 
cursing and swearing, and playing the madman beneath a neighbour's 
shop window. The woman of the house, who overheard him, 
Bunyan says, was herself a very loose and ungodly wretch ; yet 
she declared that Bunyan's fury of cursing was such, that it made 
her tremble to hear him ; she told him that he was the ungodliest 
fellow for swearing that ever she heard in all her life, and that he 
was enough to destroy the whole youth of the town, if they did but 
come in his company. There must have been an insanity of reck- 
lessness in his oaths to have drawn forth such a rebuke from such 
a source ; and the reproof, so coming, struck Bunyan with a 
sudden and irresistible conviction and shame. He stood silent, and 
hung down his head, and wished with all his heart that he might be 
a little child again, that his father might teach him to speak without 
this wicked way of swearing ; for he felt as if he were so accustomed 
to it, so bound round by it as a habit, that it was in vain for him to 
think of a reformatiom. And indeed, had it gone on much longer, 
it would certainly have been a realisation of that tremendous 
anathema in the 109th Psalm, which is not more a prediction of the 
Divine judgment in such a case, than a simple presentation of the 
inevitable consequences of habit in evil things. " As he loved 
cursing so let it come unto him. As he clothed himself with 
cursing, like as with his garment, so let it come like oil into his 
bones. Let it be unto him as the garment which covereth him, and 
for a girdle, wherewith he is girded continually." Can any man 
conceive a more terrible retribution for sin, for a voluntary habit of 
sinning, than its becoming a second nature, — inseparable and 
insuperable, an eternal law and principle of death in the being ! 

To this state was Bunyan hastening with most precocious swift- 
ness, had not God's grace interposed. And here again we find the 
same singularity as before ; we find a clear fountain of conviction 
down beneath all this depth of corruption and of evil habit, and the 
angel of Bunyan's childhood looks down into it, and the image of 




INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

an early comparative purity is reflected 
back to the memory, and possesses 
more power than if a thunderbolt had 
fallen at Bunyan's feet. / wished with 
all my heart that I might be a little child 
again! Oh, how many have wished 
that ! and for the very same purpose, — 
that they might go over life again, by 
the heeding of God's gracious disci- 
pline, in freedom from the sins that 
have eaten into the life of the soul, and 
the peace and usefulness of the life. 
Perhaps King David himself was say- 
ing, like Bunyan, Oh, that I might be a little child again ! when he 
stood and cried out unto God, " Remember not against me the 
iniquities of my youth ! " And Job also, when he said, " Thou 
makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth." These things 
trouble and defile the soul, in many cases, long after the heart, by 
the grace of God, has travelled away from them. And this is the 
beauty of that poeni by Henry Vaughan, that sad consciousness of 
a purer time and state from which the budding, opening being has 
but ripened into ruin : 

' ' Happy those early days, when I 
Shined in mine angel-infaney ; 
Oh, how I long to travel back, 
And tread again that ancient track 
Before I taught my tongue to wound 
My conscience with a sinful sound, 
Or had the black art to dispense 
A several sin to every sense." 

Let the age of Bunyan be remembered at this time, and it will be 
seen how near he came to the point where the habits of years pass 
into unchangeable fixtures of character, and the Providence and 
grace of God interposing at this point will appear still more wonder- 
ful. It is as if a hand divine were reached down from heaven to 
take up bodily an Indian canoe with a man in it, just whirled to 
the verge of the cataract of Niagara, and already bending over the 
brink to shoot into the maddening, boiling gulf below. Just so God 
snatched Bunyan back from the ruin of his vices. He was on the 
verge of eighteen years. It was about this time that he was signally 
preserved from death at the siege of Leicester by the Parliamentary 
army in 1645. He was drawn out for the attack, but, just as he was 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGEIM's PROGRESS. xi 

ready to march, another soldier begged permission to go in his 
stead, and Bunyan agreed ; and the man, standing sentinel, was shot 
in the head, and died. Carlyle says, speaking of King Charles's 
defeat at this time by Cromwell, " John Bunyan, I believe, is this 
night in Leicester, — not yet writing his Pilgrims Progress on 
paper, but acting it on the face of the earth, with a brown matchlock 
on his shoulder. Or rather, without the matchlock just at present, 
Leicester and he having been taken the other day." But Bunyan 
was not then acting the Pilgrim of his immortal allegory, knew 
nothing about it, had not begun the heavenly pilgrimage, which, 
indeed, has nothing to do with brown matchlocks ; but seemed 
hurrying, as fast as he could go, the other way, to destruction. His 
signal preservation at this time did not affect him in the least. He 
continued to sin as before, and grew even more rebellious against 
God, and careless of salvation. 

"Presently after this," Bunyan says, " I changed my condition 
into a marriage state ; and my mercy was to light upon a wife whose 
father was counted godly." A mercy, indeed ! For the young woman 
was an orphan, and the only marriage-portion in the world which she 
brought to her husband was, the affectionate memory of the counsels 
and character of her Christian parent, together with those two 
books, which he had left her when he died, Hie Plain Mans Patli- 
uay to Heaven, and The Practice of Piety, The dead saint had 
more to do with the formation of the character of the author of the 
Pilgrims Progress than those books ; for, though sometimes Bunyan 
and his wife would sit down and read together in the two volumes, 
it is not probable that he ever read them through, or relished them 
much, and his wife seems to have read to him more frequently and 
effectually from her own recollections of the example of her godly 
father. 

At this time they were very poor, not owning, Bunyan says, so 
much as a dish or a spoon between them ; and certainly it was a 
hazardous and sorrowful prospect for the wife, if now the husband 
had not begun his reformation. His marriage was the turning-point 
in his history, the gate of at least an external change, and the 
means of breaking him away from sins that, persisted in, had been 
his ruin. His wife's affectionate conversation about the memory of 
her father, together with her reading aloud from the books afore- 
said, begat within him some desires to reform his vicious life, 
although as yet not the least conviction of his sad and sinful state 
was produced within his heart. 

On the contrary, his mind was turned powerfully at first to mere 
ritual practices, " to fall in very eagerly with the religion of the 



Xll INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

times," which was, to go to church twice a-day, and there very 
devoutly to say and sing what others did, yet retaining his wicked 
life, — a thing not at all incompatible with that singular spirit of 
superstition into which he was now running like a zealot. For he 
adored with great devotion, not God, of whom he knew nothing, nor 
the divine things ministered in God's Word by the Holy Spirit, of 
which he was wholly ignorant, but all the things belonging to the 
church, — the altar, priest, clerk, vestment-service, and all other 
fixtures. All things contained within the church were counted holy, 
but especially the priest and clerk most happy, " as being God's 
principals in the holy temple, to do His work therein." What a 
singularly instructive picture is this, to see Bunyan in his lowest state 
of ignorance, — beginning just at that point in religious superstition 
which seems to be the end with multitudes, and, in their utmost 
knowledge, a lasting delusion. For this enchantment of priest- 
reverence, this intoxication with the air and form of sacred things, 
was precisely the same with the mere religious sentimentalism that 
occupies the place of true piety in so many cultivated minds ; a 
great and tasteful regard for sacred dresses, rubrics, repetitions, and 
cathedral pieties, to which the Apostle Paul in part refers when he 
says, " Let no man by these tilings beguile you of your reward." 
And all this kind of conceit was so powerful with Bunyan, the 
fever of this superstition was so intense upon Mm, that whenever he 
beheld a priest, though never so sordid and debauched in his life and 
character, his spirit fell under him, reverenced him, and was knit 
unto him, so that he could have laid down at the feet of such, and 
been trampled on by them, so entirely did their name, garb, and 
work intoxicate and bewitch him. 

But if this is singularly instructive, it is still more so to find this 
state of mind immediately connected with the idea of an Apostolical 
succession, or giving birth to a droll caricature of the same. For, 
finding in Scripture that the Israelites were once the peculiar people 
of God, Bunyan thought if he were one of this race he was sure to 
be saved, and his soul must needs be happy. The inheritance and 
security of salvation, he thought, would have come down to him by 
succession and descent, if he could but establish that genealogy. 
This, therefore, was now the great point of interest with him, 
" Whether we were of the Israelites or no ; " but how to be resolved 
about it he could not tell, till, concluding to break the matter to his 
father, whether they were Israelites, his father told him, pretty 
decidedly, no, they were not. So there was an end to Bunyan's 
dream of the succession. But it was singular that such things as 
these, which are the bloom and perfection of some systems, should 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. xili 

have come in the very first stage of Bimyans most ignorant, delu- 
sive, superstitious experience. Perhaps he was saved from much 
evil afterwards by these things coming first. 

All this while he was in no degree sensible of the nature, the evil, 
and the danger of sin. He never once thought of Christ, nor did it 
ever, in all these dreams about the sacred appointments and 
services of religion, enter into his head to think whether there was 
such a being as the Saviour or not, much less to think that sin 
would be his destruction, whatsoever religion he might follow, even 
if his father had told him they were Israelites, and could prove that 
they were such, unless he found that Saviour. This was one of the 
most singular hallucinations ever brought to view in all the records 
of biography. For, wicked as Bunyan was, and had been for many 
years, he saw nothing as yet of the incompatibility of such a life 
with his dreams of ritual piety and successional salvation. 

The very first time he ever felt what guilt was, the first thrust 
from the sword of the Spirit that went thoroughly through all these 
easements of superstition into his soul, was on the hearing of a 
sermon " On the Sin of Sabbath -breaking." The Sabbath had been 
Bunyan's day of special delight, in all the evil to which he was 
addicted, as well as, since his ritual reformation, of special attention 
to the outward things of the " religion of the times." And thus far 
he had carried on his sins and his religion very successfully, and 
without quarrelling together. He would go to church with the fore- 
most in the morning, and to his sports in the afternoon ; and the 
solemn gravity and bewildering earnestness of his manner in the 
first employment must have constituted a most peculiar comparison 
with the entire abandonment of soul and concentration of energy in 
the last. Under this sermon his conscience was for the first time 
roused, and he went home with a great burden upon his spirit, 
believing that the preacher had made that sermon expressly for 
him. 

But this was only a transitory disturbance, and even while he was 
dining the fire went out, as it does doubtless hi many a conscience 
beneath the weight of a Sabbath's dinner. He shook the sermon 
out of his mind, much as a Newfoundland dog might shake off the 
water after plunging into it, and ran with eagerness to his afternoon's 
sports. But now, in the midst of the game of Cat, in which he was 
one of the players, there came over him a tide of mental experience, 
which reminds us of the phenomena of memory and consciousness, 
as sometimes supernaturally quickened in the struggling existence 
of a man drowning. It was as a vast trance of many things in a 
moment of time. c 



XIV 



INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 






Bunyan' s bat was just raised to strike a second blow in the 
game, when, as suddenly as the lightning, there darted into his 
soul a voice of thought, " Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to 
heaven, or have thy sins and go to hell ? " Startled from his 
sport at this, he looked up to heaven, and it seemed to him as 
if the Lord Jesus were gazing down upon him in such hot 
displeasure for his sins, that as they passed in multitudinous 
array before him, he concluded they could never be 
forgiven. But from this swift and rash conclusion of 
despair, his mind sprang madly to the resolution, if 
that were the case, to go on in sin, and have as much 
of it as possible before the period of retribution 
should come. With that resolution the trance was 
concluded, and he returned desperately to his sport 
again, persuaded that he should never have any 
other comfort than what he could gain in sin, for 
that heaven was gone for ever. All these processes 
of thought, this play of conviction, remorse, and re- 
bellion, passed perhaps more rapidly with Bunyan, 
in the midst of his playmates waiting for the game, 
than the time it takes to relate it. We should like 
to see the scene depicted by a master, — the dreaming 
boy gazing up to heaven, the game standing still for 
a moment, and the companions of Bunyan's activity 
wondering what spell had come over him. But no pencil «\* 
could draw the inward conflict, or the remorse and despera- yy* 
tion of the mind, with the heaven-defying position of the will \ 
that ended it. « 

In accordance with this, he went on for a season without any 
restraint, still seeking after some more exciting pleasure in sin, till 
after the lapse of about a month, when he received that reproof 
which we have noted, from an evil woman, for his extreme wicked- 
ness in profane swearing. This was the occasion of a reformation 
from that vice so sudden and marvellous, that Bunyan himself was 
astonished at it ; for the evil habit had become a second nature to 
him; yet now it was broken up. And at the same time with this 
reformation, he began watchfully to strive to keep all the ten 
commandments, making that his way to heaven , and in this effort 
he succeeded externally so well, that all the neighbours marvelled at 
the change. They began to take him to be a very godly man, 
passing from such prodigious profaneness to such careful morality. 
They praised the change, and commended Bunyan for it ; at which 
applause the poor ignorant sinner was greatly delighted, and went 



*?■ 




AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. XV 

on for more than a year, proud of his godliness, and doing all that 
he did in the way of keeping God's commandments, or endeavour- 
ing to keep them, solely either to be seen of men, or to be well 
spoken of by them. He says himself, in addition to this, that with 
all his religion and their praise, he knew neither Christ, nor grace, 
nor faith, nor hope. And, indeed, if he had rested in this external 
reformation, it must have been merely the assurance of his soul's 
ruin. 

But God would not thus leave him to perish, but in His gracious 
providence was preparing him for the revelation of better things ; 
this unexpected release from the power of his vicious habits being a 
wonderous discipline before the coming of grace. It was as when a 
vessel, grounded at her moorings, and waiting for a high tide before 
she can be got off, gets up her anchors and casts loose her chain- 
cables. Though that would do no good, unless the tide came in 
strong and high ; yet it puts her in readiness to be lifted and made 
to swim, and to move off into the stream more swiftly and easily. 
So with this beginning of Bunyan's reformation. God would cast off, 
as it were, the chain-cables of those desperate habits externally, 
even while Bunyan's heart was as yet deeply grounded in sin. It 
was a most remarkable procedure, and a marvellous external moral 
change. We scarcely know where there is a parallel to it ; for it is 
the case most generally that a mere external moral reformation, thus 
pleasing and profitable, and received with such applause of men, 
stops there, and goes not to the heart ; and so the ship is merely 
unloosed from her moorings and set afloat, to founder by a great 
unnoticed leak, or to strike upon the rocks by a false and presump- 
tuous navigation. 

And now Bunyan was led to betake himself to the historical part 
of the Bible, with which he began to be much pleased, though he 
knew nothing of it spiritually, and could not endure the reading of 
Paul's Epistles. He was growing very self-complacent with his 
reformation, which had now been going on by the space of a twelve- 
month or more, although he was all this while utterly ignorant of 
Jesus Christ, and of the corruptions of his own nature. In one thing 
after another he seemed to be breaking away from his sins, and every 
such seeming victory gave him great delight ; and whenever he did 
anything which he thought was good, he had great peace in his con- 
science, and felt quite sure that no man in England could please 
God better than he. 

If he had been left here, it is plain that he was deeper in the 
mire than ever ; for every chain-cable of sinful habit cut loose 
from him only let him down into the quicksands of an imaginary 



XVI INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

self-righteousness. The weight of pride was increasing in his 
hold, just in proportion as the chains of external evil were slack- 
ened. And while he seemed to be putting in a cargo of virtues, they 
were just sinking the ship, or preparing to sink it, if he did not 
discover the evil. . 

But now the tide was to come sweeping in, the tide of God's 
grace, and he was to receive better instruction. How simply, how 
lowlily, how beautifully does God work, that He may bring back the 
soul into the light of the living, and withdraw man from his pur- 
pose, and hide pride from man ! This true and living instruction 
came to Bunyan first from three or four poor women, sitting at a 
door in the sun, and talking about the things of God and heaven. 
Bunyan himself just now was a very brisk talker in the matter of 
religion. He was acting the part of his own Talkative ; and being 
now in that frame, and thinking that he pleased God as well as any 
man in England, he drew him near to hear those pious neighbours, 
and to take part in their conversation. But to his astonishment, he 
heard a new language, and was confounded. The subject on which 
their hearts were kindliug together was indeed that familiar one of 
religion ; but in it those three or four poor women had gone utterly 
beyond Bunyan's experience ; they spake of what he had never yet 
dreamed of, what he had never yet began to understand, — the con- 
flicts and enjoyments of the heart, the flame of heartfelt, experi- 
mental piety, — an inward, hidden, spiritual life. 

Here was a check and a blow that brought Bunyan down at once 
from his high estate. It was as if an arrow had reached an eagle on 
the wing. Bunyan had deemed himself a religious man, a great 
pleaser of God, and able to keep pace with any talker in the king- 
dom. He was as if a common carpet-weaver had deemed himself 




AUTHOB OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. xvii 

capable of reproducing the cartoons of Raphael ; or as if a mere 
smelter of the ores of paints had imagined himself a master of the 
art of painting, and had gone into the shop of Titian to see him and 
to talk with him, and had heard him conversing with other great 
geniuses, and had seen for the first time one of his great original 
productions. For Bunyan was really as ignorant of true religion as 
a man who never in his life beheld a picture, or had any employment 
but with black ore, could be ignorant of the mystery and art of 
painting. The idea of the New Birth, the idea of the regeneration 
of the heart by the Holy Spirit, had never once entered into 
Bunyan's mind. He never had dreamed of noticing the current of 
his secret thoughts, whether they were wicked or no ; he knew and 
cared nothing for the temptations of Satan, or the way to resist and 
overcome them. He had thought nothing of the wickedness and 
deceitfulness of his own heart, and was not aware of it. He knew 
nothing of any Christian conflict against sin, nor of the promises of 
God to those engaged in it, nor of the wonders of Redemption through 
the blood of Christ. 

And yet these were the sole subjects of conversation among these 
poor but happy women sitting in the sun. It was like the three 
shining ones with wings meeting Bunyan at the foot of the cross. 
That beautiful image and incident in the Pilgrim's Progress may 
have sprung up in Bunyan's soul from this very event hi his own 
religious experience, although he had now no burden on his heart, 
and these women were rather God's instruments in putting it on, 
and making him see and feel it, than taking it off. They lightened 
him indeed, but it was ~by first bringing him into bondage. 

The subject of these poor but happy women's talk was that of 
sincere, experimental piety, a theme on which Bunyan thought he 
knew a great deal, and could talk as well, and please God as well, as 
most women in England. Yet those three shining ones, although 
they talked on that theme, and talked evidently from the heart, and 
from an overflowing joij of the heart, spoke in a language that he . 
could not understand, of things to which he was an utter stranger. 
They talked about their miserable lost state by nature, and the i 
greatness of the work of God hi then- hearts ; and what was stranger 
than all the rest to Bunyan, they talked of their own righteousness as 
being a poor and worthless tiling, that could do them no good, but 
could only condemn them. 

Now Bunyan had but just been labouring, and was still working, 
to build nx3 just such a righteousness of his own ; and he thought he 
had succeeded well ; he set much by it, he thought it a wonderfully 
precious thing. He was therefore astounded, perplexed, and cast 




XV111 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

down at such conversation. They talked, besides, so melodiously, 
and with such evidence of grace, and as if joy did make them talk, 
that their talking alone seemed a reality, while his appeared a poor 
heartless counterfeit. Now indeed his heart began to shake, and his 
mind misgave him in regard to Ms own condition, that he wanted all 
the tokens of a truly godly man. 

Here was the very beginning of Bunyan's light and life ; so true 
it is, that, until enlightened by the Divine 
Spirit, he that thinketh he knoweth any 
thing, knoweth nothing yet as he ought to 
know; and so true it is, that self- distrust 
and humility are the beginning of wisdom. 
Moreover, here again was visible in 
Bunyan the heart of the little child, the 
inward, inborn, deep simplicity of his na- 
ture. Back again he goes to childhood, 
and waits, like a little child, on these poor 
women's heavenly conversation. The pride 
of his nature just then seemed to be all 
gone, and the more he went into the com- 
pany of these poor people, the more he 
questioned concerning his own condition ; and he now found within 
himself, to his own astonishment, a tenderness of heart, and a fixed- 
ness of soul upon the things of the kingdom of heaven, and an open- 
ness to scriptural conviction, which prepared him to come to the 
Word of God with a new vision. Every part of the Bible, but 
especially the Epistles of Paul, began now to be sweet and pleasant 
to him. And now commenced that unequalled intensity and fervour 
of reading and meditation, in which all the powers of his being were 
absorbed for years in the study of the Scriptures ; all the while with 
importunate prayer to God, that he might know the truth and the 
way to heaven and glory. He distrusted his own wisdom, so that 
whatever he met of doctrine or example in others that was too hard 
for him, he betook himself in earnest prayer to God, feeling that he 
was himself but a fool, and weaker than a babe. 

But at this period it is in Bunyan's life that he enters, and we 
enter with him, upon a series of years of the most distressing ex- 
perience. Doubtless God saw that it was all requisite, that no one 
of these conflicts could be spared, though the sight is sometimes \ery 
strange to one looking on, the sight of a child of God permitted to be 
so terribly afflicted of the devil. As yet he cannot be considered a 
child of God, but is just finding out, to his amazement, that he is 
not such, not a Christian, that he knows nothing of true Christian 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGEIM's PEOGEESS. xix 

experience. He is just beginning to run from the City of Destruc- 
tion, and is crying, " Which way shall I flee ? " 

He was now about nineteen years of age. From this time forward 
every step was taken by experience, and for the most part without 
any earthly guide or teacher. God at this time especially suffered 
no one to lead him. There were wrong tendencies in his own mind, 
which must be worked out in order to be corrected ; there was to be 
a wrestling with native evils all the way, as well as a conflict with 
Satan, in order that Bunyan might grow, not in or by the conversa- 
tion or theology of others, but in the knowledge of his own heart and 
of the wiles of the great adversary of the soul, by the teachings and 
influences of the grace of God. Thus the Holy Spirit, by the Word, 
was Bunyan's teacher, and what things he received he knew; he 
worked them out with as great originality almost as the Apostles 
themselves ; the language of Paul, in the relation of his own ex- 
perience, being quite applicable to Bunyan's soul: " Striving accord- 
ing to his working, that worheth in me mightily ;" for mightily indeed 
did God work with Bunyan. 

It was severe experience that taught him to trust God's Word as 
God had given it, and to wait upon God in His Word, and not upon 
the impulses of his own soul. This was Bunyan's danger, one of 
his most natural and hazardous temptations, from the first moment 
of his setting out from the City of Destruction, that of waiting upon 
his own powers, and obeying them too implicitly ; a temptation and 
a danger from which the terrible pressure of his conflicts with the 
Adversary at length drove him effectually, — drove him from himself 
to God, taught him to look away from himself to Christ; and, until 
the learning of that lesson, he had nothing stable and secure. 

He was, moreover, too imperiously under the despotism of his 
own imagination, — a faculty that God had given him in great rich- 
ness and power, but which was to be subdued in captivity to Christ 
and His Word, before it could be instrumental in the great work of 
grace for which God was preparing Bunyan, — a work to be accom- 
plished by the workings and productions of his sanctified genius. 
Bunyan himself, hi looking back, saw that he himself, like Gideon, 
with the experiments of his fleeces, had tempted God when he ought 
to have believed and ventured upon His Word ; and therefore did 
God permit him to be surrounded with enemies and harassed with 
temptations ; for he should have believed His Word, and not put an 
if either upon God's all-seeingness or any of His promises. 

It cost a series of successive conflicts of several j^ears' continuance 
to wean Bunyan from the habit of waiting upon sudden impulses, 
and to form within him the habit of resting upon the Word of God 



XX INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

and upon Christ only, and of finding all his righteousness in Christ. 
In proportion as these habits were formed, his piety not only grew 
elevated and glowing, but strong and impregnable, and of a deep, 
ripe, serene, and heavenly character, that fitted him, as a wise 
master-builder, for his work with other souls, and, as an experienced 
guide, to mark for others the road that leads us to the Lamb. These 
two things particularly were gained by his temptations, — a deeper 
foundation in the Word of God, and a more simple and sole resting 
on the righteousness of Christ ; and these two experiences were the 
source of Bunyan's power — ,they were as the fore and main masts 
in Bunyan's spiritual vessel ; by these the wind from heaven took 
him, and carried him on triumphantly. 

We think it is safe to say, as we trace the buffetings between self 
and Satan, and the temporary blindness of some of Bunyan's con- 
clusions in the midst of them, that God sometimes suffered Bunyan 
to fall into mistakes, by the discipline of which the native erroneous 
tendencies of his mind might be brought out, and an experienced 
j'ddgxuLcxiu, Dy grace and truth, set against them. Evil after evil was 
revealed to him in his own nature, and through erroneous supposi- 
tions he often came to right ones, — an exhaustive process, most in- 
structive and powerful. Every error that Bunyan fell into, and 
found out, was a piece of wisdom, priceless, unpurchaseable , so that 
the very temptations presented by his soul's lying adversary were 
turned into articles of Christian armour of proof for him. 

With all this, it is to be carefully marked that there resulted from 
this discipline, and from the loneliness of Bunyan in it, nothing of 
the dogmatism or narrow-mindedness of the mere self-made man. 
Dogmatism is the fruit of second-hand knowledge ; but what a man 
receives from the Spirit of God makes him anything but self-con- 
fident, though full of confidence in God. What a man gets from the 
Scriptures in love, by the Spirit, he holds in love, though with 
unquestioning and unshakeable firmness. There is all the difference 
between the dogmatism of second-hand knowledge, or an imitated 
experience, and the simplicity, variety, and pliability, yet fixedness 
of knowledge given direct and original from the Spirit and the Word 
of God, that there is between a tree, which might be carved out of 
pieces of hickory, nicely adjusted, with even the bark upon them, 
but, of course, immovable, and one of nature's own trees, growing, 
in the air, fixed, indeed, by its roots in the ground, but covered with 
fresh whispering leaves, stirred by the breezes, and the whole tree 
gracefully bending in the wind. Such is the difference between dog- 
matism and life. 

Moreover, in his Christian character and attainments, one thing 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. XXI 

was always balanced by another, through the Divine providence and 
grace, as a painter would mix his colours, and grind them in with 
one another, so that at length the just tone, beauty, and harmony of 
colouring should be attained. Bunyan was not allowed to make any 
one part of Christian experience the reigning part, or to take any 
one grace or truth, and run it to exclusive extremes, neglecting or 
disparaging others, nor to be satisfied with any attainment in a crude 
state. For still, as fast as he seemed to be gaining something, he 
was beaten down in that or another direction before he had oppor- 
tunity for vain boasting, or a presumptuous trial of his attainments. 
And as fast as he really gained anything, he was kept from the self- 
complacent knowledge of it ; it was put away for safe-keeping and 
increase in the savings-bank of Humility, and Bunyan was set upon 
some other trial and labour. And so it went on for years. There 
was hardly ever such discipline with mortal man, that we know of. 
Every grace he got was exposed to trial so as by fire, that all the 
wood, hay, and stubble might be burned out of it beforehand. It was 
like taking a new-made salamander safe, and exposing it, for a thorough 
test, with records inside, to the heat of a great furnace. It was as if a 
smith, making a coat of armour for another, should be compelled to try 
every part of it by trying it on, and having bullets shot against himself. 
We say, in looking back, that Bunyan fell into such and such 
errors that were the cause of much suffering ; that he was often in a 
morbid state, and often mistook the meaning of passages of Scrip- 
ture ; and that he might have arrived at a peaceful termination of 
his conflicts by a much shorter cut, if he had taken the right steps. 
But where then would have been that most truthful and striking 
picture of the Slough of Despond in the Pilgrims Progress, with the 
true steps often hidden from sight under the mire of heart-corrup- 
tions ? Most true it is that Bunyan worked his way through a 
slough of errors and difficulties incomparably worse than any re- 
vealed in that part of the passage of his Pilgrim ; and this shows 
that in that marvellous book he never exaggerated anything ; but by 
that very discipline it was that he came to such perfect mastery of 
truth and religious experience. He was often perplexing himself 
needlessly about his acceptance with Christ, when his right and 
happy way plainly would have been to leave all that anxiety with 
Christ, and to go straight forward in the path of duty. But how then 
should he have become master of all that class of windings and diffi- 
culties in the human heart, so as to teach other souls in like troubles? 
God was preparing in him a light that should not be hid under a 
bushel. There was to be in his experience a length and variety of 
mistakes, temptations, attainments, discoveries, trials, conflicts, clash- 

d 



XX11 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

ing, commingling, crossing, out of which there should arise a calmness 
and serenity of heavenly wisdom, like the evening sky after a storm. 
So in all his intense strivings after particular graces and assur- 
ances, and even in his mistaken searches after things that were not 
to be found, he always gained a far greater knowledge in the end 
than he contemplated in the outset. A whole twelvemonth he was 
once searching through the Bible for a passage, not existing in it, 
but which at length he found in the Apocrypha, and from which he 
had gained much comfort, even while asking first one good man, and 
then another, and another, where it was to be found. And every day 
of that search he was growing in experience and wisdom, and was 
learning indeed so much of the grace and love of God in His Word, 
that when he found the apocryphal nature of that passage which had 
encouraged him, he was prepared for the discovery without being in 
the least daunted by it, because he saw that the sum and substance 
of it were contained in many promises. Just in the same way his 
trials about faith, election, and the day of grace being gone, all 
successively drove him to such intense searching of the Scriptures 
on those points, that the knowledge acquired amidst such flames of 
anxious feeling was very great and inestimable, and was burnt in 
upon his soul. As fast as the colours came out, the flames were 
turned upon them, and they were fixed. Nothing so gained could 
ever be lost or forgotten. He did not go to the Bible for external 
use merely, to point a moral, or to get balls for his cannon, or a bell 
for his steeple; but he ran to it for life, personal life, and every 
acquisition was one of life and experience. There was no hot-house, 
artificial, or mere sentimental religious vegetation in his character; 
it was all a vigorous, natural, sweet growth, under the open air, sun, 
rain, wind, and tempests. 

Even the Scriptures that made him faint and fear, yet kindled an 
unquenchable fire of resolution in his soul. And the temptations 
and mistakes by which he was driven to his wits' end, came at last 
to be but elements of profound knowledge and faith. He was some- 
times so tossed and perplexed, as he says, between the devil and his 
own ignorance, that he could not tell what to do ; as when, under a 
mistake in regard to the nature of faith, he was tempted to settle the 
question, whether he had any faith or no, by working a miracle. 
This temptation, as he says, was so hot upon him, that one day, as 
he was passing between Els'.ow and Bedford, he felt an irresistible 
impulse to command a dry place by the roadside to become a pool of 
water; but even just as he was going to speak, the thought came into 
his mind, " Go first under yonder hedge, and pray that God will 
make you able." 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



xxm 




Such was the conflict and combination between error and truth, 
fear, anxiety, distrust, presumption, good sense, and faith, the 
suggestions of the tempter and the Word of God, the blinding of 
Satan and the enlightening of the Holy Spirit. The result of these 
conflicts was always an advancement from the darkness to the day. 
God sometimes made Bunyan wait at a passage of Scripture for 
many months together, studying it on all sides, as an army would 
beleaguer a fortress to take it, yet show- 
ing him nothing ; but then, after all this 
waiting, and praying, and labouring, 
and longing, when the discovery came, 
when the light broke, how glorious, 
how beautiful, how refreshing ! 

It was many months of this conflict- 
ing experience before Bunyan even 
gained courage to break his mind to 
those poor people in Bedford, from 
whose heavenly conversation he had 
gained the first true idea and heart-felt 
sight of the nature of real piety. When 
he did speak to them, they at once told 

Mr. Giiford, their pastor, about his case, and that faithful minister 
took frequent occasion to converse with Bunyan, and also invited 
him to those meetings at his own house where he was accustomed to 
converse with others ; from which instructive conversation, by listen- 
ing to it, Bunyan seemed to gain more knowledge than he did out of 
inquiries or directions addressed to his own soul. 

Mr. Gifford was a Baptist minister who had once served as a 
major in the king's army, but afterwards became a medical prac- 
titioner, and then, when converted (which conversion was by one 
of the most sudden, overpowering, and marvellous interpositions of 
Providence and grace on record), taught his neighbours in the 
Gospel, and at length, like Apollos the Jew of Alexandria, having 
learned the way of the Lord more perfectly, and a church having 
gradually gathered around him, he became their pastor. He was 
doubtless the original of Bunyan's Evangelist in the Pilgrims 
Progress, and, judging from the tenour of his instructions, " holy 
Mr. Gifford," as Bunyan calls him, must have been a most judicious 
and experienced, as well as fervent and affectionate minister of 
Christ. He told Bunyan and the rest of his flock one thing, which 
Bunyan had already learned from his own experience by the teach- 
ing of the Divine Spirit, which was, not to take any truth upon 
trust, as from this, or that, or any other man or men, but to cry 



XXIV INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

mightily unto God to convince them of the reality of each truth, 
and to set them down therein by His own Spirit in His holy 
"Word, so that, when temptation should come upon them, they might 
not find those things giving way of which they once thought they 
had evidence and knowledge. This was wise teaching ; and meeting 
Bunyan's own heartfelt experience as it did, it was as refreshing and 
delightful to him as the former and latter rain in its season. His 
soul was led from truth to truth by the Divine Spirit, so that, let men 
say what they would, he counted it nothing, unless he had it with 
evidence from heaven. 

But the first result of Mr. Gilford's instructions was an unex- 
pected revelation to Bunyan of the depths of corruption in his own 
heart. He had such sore and terrible experience of its evils, that he 
was almost overwhelmed ; for he saw that none of his wicked desires 
were dead within him, but he had a heart that would sin, under a 
law that must condemn, and he was driven as with a tempest, by liis 
corruptions; and though all the while endeavouring to seek after 
Christ, and praying that He would open the door of his heart and 
take possession, yet he found unbelief rising up in great strength, 
and setting the shoulder against the door to keep the Saviour out. 
His conscience all the while was so exceedingly scrupulous and 
tender, that he hardly dared to speak for fear of sinning ; and as to 
his corruptions, he found himself as in a miry bog, that shook if he 
did but stir ; and there he seemed to be left alone and abandoned of 
God, Christ, the Holy Spirit, and all good things. 

From the sight that he had of his own sins, and of the desperate 
wickedness of his heart, his descriptions of which remind us of one 
of Cowper's simple hymns, beginning — 

' ' My Grod, how perfect are thy ways, 
But mine polluted are," 

he fell deeply into despair, concluding that such vigorous and hateful 
evils as he found within himself could not possibly consist with a 
state of grace. He thought now it was impossible that he ever 
should get so far as to thank God that He had made him a man. 
The condition of the fishes in the sea, he thought, was to be desired 
rather than his, which for years together was but a protracted ex- 
perience of all that is contained in that outcry in the seventh of 
Romans — " Oh, wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from 
the body of this death ! " 

In this very state, we say, he continued, with brief alternations, 
for several years. But let no man think that this state, though 
bordering on despair, was with him a mere gloomy, brooding inac- 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. XXV 

tivity. Very far from, that ; for lie was working all the while with 
all the intensity of his soul, flying from text to text, conflicting now 
with one element, now with another, of inward unbelief and external 
temptation, as a bewildered man wandering in black midnight over 
craggy mountains in a thunder-storm. All this while, and, indeed, 
ever through his whole life, and without any interval, he had the 
most powerful conviction of an eternal retribution, and such a vivid, 
overmastering sense of it, that whatever seductions or temptations 
might be placed before him, the thought of one hour in hell would 
be sufficient to calcine them all. 

So, in conjunction with this, there were two tilings during these 
years of conflict, that, in his observance of the world around him, 
filled him with wonder. One of these marvels was, when he saw old 
people, on the verge of eternity, hunting after the things of this life, 
as if they should live here always ; and the other was, when he saw 
professed Christians much distressed and cast down by outward 
losses, as of husband, wife, child, or other trials. Lord, thought 
Bunyan, what ado is here about such little tilings as these ! And 
this state of mind was most impressive truth ; it had an undeniable 
congruity, a stern and solemn consistency with the personal anxieties 
of an immortal soul in peril of eternal ruin ; it was in exact corre- 
spondence with our Saviour's own question, "What shall it profit a 
man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul ? " This state 
of mind was to Bunyan a source of great power, and of great clear- 
ness of vision. He saw men walking in a vain show upon a thin sul- 
phurous crust over a bottomless volcano ; he saw and felt the sharp 
impressive contrasts between the worthlessness of all mere earthly 
objects of pursuit, with the mad absorbedness of men in them, and 
the worth of heaven, and the terribleness of hell, with the indiffe- 
rence of men to both. And amidst all this terror of spirit, this 
energy of personal despair on account of his own wickedness, 
Bunyan would not for the world have had his sense of sin dimi- 
nished, except by a sure finding of Christ. That sense of sin was 
the source of his anguish and despondency, and yet he was fearful 
of losing it ; for he found, from his observance of others, as well as 
by a keen watching of his own experience, that " unless guilt of con- 
science was taken off the right way, that is, by the blood of Christ, 
a man grew rather worse for the loss of his trouble of mind than 
better." 

And here it is a marvellous thing to see the vigilance of Bunyan's 
mind as to the workings of conviction in others ; to see the unerring 
sagacity, the almost fearful distinctness with which he beheld souls 
going in a wrong direction, and made their errors a caution against 




Ms own. We can almost see him in Mr. Gifford's appointed meeting 
for religious inquirers, sitting gloomy and despairing in the corner, 
like a condemned spirit, yet thrill iugly alive to the import of all that 
was going on, and knowing, with almost intuitive certainty, the case 
of those who were gradually losing their burden (that weight of guilt 
that lay so hard upon his own soul), without Christ taking it off from 
them. He dreaded losing the sense of his sinfulness, unless it were 
removed in the right way ; and he earnestly prayed to God that it 
might not go off, except by the application of God's mercy, through 
Christ, to Ms soul. "And that," says he, " -which made me the more 
afraid of this was, because I had seen some, who, though they were 
under the wounds of conscience, and would cry and pray, yet feeling 
rather present ease for their trouble, than pardon for their sin, eared 
not how they lost their guilt, so they got it out of their mind; but 
having got it off the wrong way, it was not sanctified unto them ; but 
they grew harder and blinder, and more wicked after their trouble. 
This made me afraid, and made me cry unto God the more, that it 
might not be so with me" 

All tMs continued for years ! And the very first brief interval of 
comfort and peace in Bunyan's soul came from Christ, and from 
Him only. Truly it is a most wonderful exMbition. And we see in 
all tMs introduction of Bunyan's soul to the point of arrival at the 
Wicket Gate (for only thus far has he yet come), the source of that 
exquisite wisdom and beauty in his own delineation of the course of 
his own Pilgrim, not only through all Ms adventures in the Slough 
of Despond, but in the meeting with Mr. Worldly- wiseman, and the 
counsels of Carnal Policy and Legality, and the terrors of the over- 
hanging, fiery-flashing Hill. It was a long, weary, painful, yet most 
instructive discipline. Bunyan opens the happy change of ex- 
perience that leads out of it with the following words : So in process 
of time Christian got up to the gate ; and in that brief note of time, 
that process of time, how much is covered up ! Certainly, we think, 
all that experience related in the Grace Abounding, up to what he 



INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XXV11 

has called the " comforting time," when he heard a sermon on the 
love of Christ, the powerful effect of which upon his soul was coupled 
by a singular beauty of experience with the remembrance of Peter's 
feelings when delivered from his prison : " He wist not that it was 
true, which ivas come unto him of the angel!' 

All this while Bunyan was at school, and the Law was his school- 
master, to bring him to Christ; and he passed through a most 
profound and deep fundamental training. We often see something 
such an intellectual training to prepare men's minds for great pursuits 
and attainments in this life ; and that we do not so much wonder at. 
We see young men at their universities passing through a course of 
the abstract sciences, with the utmost tension and intensity of mind 
for j^ears ; and we sometimes see them, on their own part, bending, 
applying, and chsciplining their faculties in this way, just merely to 
carry off from other competitors the honours of the course, the dis- 
tinction of senior wrangler for the year, or other like insignificant 
applauses, although, indeed, the object of their teachers is far higher 
and more distant. Poor sensitive Henry Kirke White almost killed 
himself by three or four years of mathematics. And men claim that 
such discipline wonderfully strengthens the mind, and prepares it in 
every direction for the encounter of the great affairs of life. . 

And unquestionably a similar spiritual discipline is necessary to 
prepare the soul for an entrance on the great affairs of redemption, 
for the study and possession of the unsearchable riches of that 
mighty system, with a power of intense appreciation of them, and a 
heartfelt, enthusiastic, passionate understanding and love of them, 
and a wise, earnest, glowing application of them to other minds. It 
is as clear as the sun that the Spirit of God was Bunyan's teacher 
leading him through all this varied, intense, and difficult course of 
study and experience, hi which not only the powers of his intellect, 
but the strength of conscience, the feelings of his heart, and all the 
sensibilities of his being were taxed almost to the utmost height of 
endurance, and disciplined in a large, free, full development, from 
step to step, in the knowledge both of the things of the natural man 
and the things of the spiritual man, in order that he might be a 
workman of God, needing not to be ashamed, prepared for just that 
great work which God had for him to do, and would do by him. 
The whole scene, in this light, is of a wondrous beauty, instructive- 
ness, and interest. 

And all this, it is to be remarked, while events of such commanding 
importance and excitement were going on about him. But the point 
at which he and his destinies and his influences were to be linked by 
Divine Providence with those events, and to be indissolubly connected 



XXVU1 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

thenceforward with the fortunes of multitudes of souls, and inwoven 
in the history of the Church of Christ on earth, was not yet reached. 
So for the present this great work of preparation goes forward 
silently and unnoticed ; and the affairs of this world, and the des- 
potisms of civil and ecclesiastical hierarchies are not yet permitted 
to try their grasp on Bunyan, or to mingle with the sublime personal 
conflict of his soul against the powers of darkness. There was he, 
in the lonely seclusion of the village of his youth, and in the despised 
pursuit of his trade as a mender of pots and kettles (though ye have 
lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a clove covered with 
silver, and her feathers with yellow gold) ; absolutely almost uncon- 
scious that there was such a whirl of this world round about him, so 
swallowed up was his soul in the anxieties of a personal salvation. 
And who, indeed, would not be just as much absorbed, if God main- 
tained within the soul such a vivid sense of eternity and of an 
eternal retribution as Bunyan had upon him ? There is nothing but 
must yield to the mastery of that sense of eternity. No interest of 
kingdoms, no conflicts of states, no revolutions, nor universal wars 
in this world, nor fortunes of rolling empires, nor any dramas of 
parliaments in the mingled din of musketry and eloquence, with a 
nation's life or death depending, nor of commonwealths led by 
heroic warriors, nor of the heads of kings struck off upon solemn 
scaffolds, could stand against the interests of one soul in peril of 
everlasting death, and struggling for eternity. 

And it was that, and justly that, that commanded and confined 
the whole energies of Bunyan's being. Without were fightings, 
indeed, of terrible import and vast moment ; but within were fears 
that made the external chaos almost as a serene and shining orb in 
the comparison. Tilings of absorbing interest were indeed going on 
about him ; but for Bunyan the whole interest of life was centered 
in the question of an eternal salvation. From about the period in 
1645, when God withheld him from death at the siege of Leicester, 
to near the year 1653, when the kingdom of Great Britain had passed 
into a Republic, and King Charles had gone to his eternal reckon- 
ing, Bunyan was almost as effectually a being of another world, as if 
he had been in a trance conveyed to a distant planet. There was the 
Long Parliament, the Civil War, the throne overturned, Charles 
beheaded, Cromwell reigning, the hierarchical despotism down ; but 
all these things were as fleeting visions of the night to Bunyan, for 
the pathway of his soul lay not yet across and among them. 

In the year 1653 Bunyan was first received into the visible 
Church of Christ on earth, the Baptist church in Bedford, under the 
pastorship of Mr. Gifford. It was a great day for Bunyan, the 






AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 



beginning of his career of external power and usefulness. In that 
same year, 1653, Oliver Cromwell was admitted Lord Protector of 
England, Scotland, and Ireland. Here were two kings, and God 
had given them the victory. Yet were they to pass through greater 
perils still ; and any kingdom or power of this world merely was but 
as a dead straw, in comparison with the kingdom and power of life 
before them. Well may each, in Carlyle's language and imagery, 
the solemnity of the meaning of which no grotesqueness can conceal 
from the conscience, putting the common man's hat upon their heads, 
exclaim, " God enable me to be King of what lies under this ! For 
Eternities lie under it, and Infinities, and Heaven also, and Hell. 
And it is as big as the Universe, this Kingdom ; and I am to conquer 
it, or be for ever conquered by it, now while it is called To-day ! " 

But in touching upon this date and event of Bunyan's union with 
the visible Church of Christ, we have somewhat anticipated events in 
the progress of our sketch of the Divine providence and grace in his 
experience. We have traced him, as we said, only to the Wicket 
Gate ; for we think that the sunny place under the shillings of the 
love of Christ, to which we have followed him, is the first door 
opened to him where the burdened pilgrim was welcomed in, and 
began to feel as if indeed the Lord had redeemed him. 

It was, in Bunyan's imagination, as the iron gate that leadeth unto 
the city, through which, after passing the first and second ward, the 
angel led Peter out ; and then thinking upon the matter, he said 
within himself, " Now I know of a surety that the Lord hath sent 
His angel, and hath delivered me." So at the gate of that sermon 
on the love of Christ, Bunyan's heart was filled with comfort and 
hope. As he went home and mused upon God's love and mercy to 
such a sinner, he thought he could have spoken of it to the very crows 
that sat cawing upon the ploughed lands before him. " Would I had 
a pen and ink here," he said ; " I would write this down before I go 
any farther; for surely I will not forget this forty years hence." 




Elatow Place. 



INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 




Here was the future author of the Pilgrim's Progress, with the 
spontaneous power of genius already set on fire and stirring within 
him. But to begin that work yet would have been premature, even 
with all the fire of love with which his soul was burning, even had 
it continued bright and sensible. Many 
years more of difficulty and danger, of 
trial, conflict, and temptation, of exceed- 
ingly varied and alternating experience, 
and much deeper depths of the knowledge 
of Ms own heart, and of the Divine Scrip- 
tures, and of the dealings of God with 
others, would be requisite, all mellowed 
down by grace into a heavenly wisdom, 
sevenfold purified, before God would set 
His servant to that work. 

And whereas poor Bunyan thought that 
forty years could not make him forget that 
glad experience, within forty days he began 
to question it all again, and to doubt its reality, or its belonging to 
liimself. And now indeed the great tempter was about to open one of 
his main batteries upon him, of which Bunyan afterwards felt that 
he had at the time a plain and powerful warning ; for about a fort- 
night after the sweet interval of reigning grace and consolation 
through the love of Christ, the words of our blessed Lord to Peter 
before just such an attack from the great adversary, came rolling and 
rattling like a peal of thunder in Bunyan's mind : " Simon, Simon, 
behold Satan hath desired to have you." The impression of it was so 
vivid, so life-like, so piercing, as a personal address to Bunyan's own 
soul, that sometimes, under the power of this imagination, he turned 
Jus head, as if a man at a great distance had called loudly behind 
him. And he soon perceived the end of God therein, when the 
water-spout of temptation burst upon him, as clearly as Peter 
remembered the words of the Lord, and knew then- meaning, when 
the storm came down upon him. Nor is there any reason whatever 
to doubt that Bunyan's own interpretation of this matter, as the plain 
providence of God, when looking back upon it after years of calm 
reflection, was the right one ; that the presentation of that Scripture 
to his soul was the ministration of the Divine Spirit, to warn and 
prepare him for v/hat was to come, by stirring him up to watchfulness 
and prayer. 

And here we may see a new evidence of the Divine wisdom and 
mercy guiding Bunyan's way, in looking back upon the previous 
years, which, under great terror of mind because of sin, he had spent 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. XXXI 

in such intense study of the Word of God, amidst successive particu- 
lar temptations. The living knowledge of the Scriptures thus 
acquired, and, as we have said, burnt in upon his soul, prepared him 
for that more direct and terrible onset of the powers of darkness 
which he was now to experience, and which, he says, when it came, 
was twenty times worse than all he had met with before. And so 
indeed it was ; for in all the records of spiritual experience to be 
found in our language, or any other, you can find no such scene of 
terrible conflict as this. And it lasted, almost without interval, for a 
whole year. It was like a midnight tropical hurricane, where the ship 
drives on, enveloped in palpable, appalling darkness ; the sea and 
the sky one wide commingling cataract, yet sheeted with intense 
flames of lightning ; where the helpless crew, amidst the bursting 
rain and thunder, momentarily expect to founder, or that the ship 
will be torn in pieces or set bodily on fire. Rain, lightning, whirl- 
wind, and darkness ! Thus was Bunyan's bark driven upon the raging- 
waves, the light all gone, darkness in the soul, floods of blasphemies 
poured down as from the vault of hell, so filling the mind and over- 
weighing the heart with their number, continuance, and fiery force, 
that Bunyan felt as if incessantly there were nothing else, and room 
for nothing else within him, and as if God had, hi very wrath to his 
soul, given him up to them to be carried away with them, as with a 
mighty whirlwind. 

And here the early sins of Bunyan, especially his terrific habit of 
cursing and swearing, gave great power to the tempter, and venom 
to his -fiery darts. The Valley of the Shadow of Death is here, and 
clouds of smoke and flame, as from the bottomless pit, enveloping 
the dark mountains ; and demons sputtering their jets of blas- 
phemy, and folding their filthy wings around the soul, and so 
blinding and distracting it, that it cannot tell whether the evil 
thoughts that fill it with such anguish and horror are its own 
suggestions, or the noise of fiends flying in the darkness. And 
here too is depicted a morbid state of the soul, so terrible, that he 
who has ever experienced the like, almost starts back from pe- 
rusing even the record of it, lest its snake -like fascinations should 
come over him again ;-— a state of the soul, where the attempt to 
throw off and exclude a horrid thought or image only fixes it, 
and bodies it forth in more palpable and hideous reality ; so that, 
as a murderer pursued by conscience, the soul can only fly swiftly, 
not daring to look behind. But it cannot be always flying ; and yet, 
the moment it attempts to stop and face its adversary, the terror 
glares up again, frightful and malignant. 

Let this morbid terror of a thought or image thrusting itself 



INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

upon the soul increase to a certain point, and it becomes insanity. 
All the physicians, medicines, friends, and careful attentions on 
earth, could do nothing to minister to a mind thus diseased. God 
only is the keeper of our reason, and it was He only who kept 
Bunyan's mind from madness, and delivered him at length from the 
body of this death. He was sometimes so haunted and tortured 
with the suggestion or imagination of giving expression even to a 
blasphemy which should, if possible, be the sin against the Holy 
Ghost, that he was ready to clap his hands to his mouth, and 
forcibly press his chin, to keep his lips from utterance. Here it 
was that Bunyan realised perhaps more than Job himself expe- 
rienced or imagined when he said, "Thou writest bitter things 
against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth." 
For it was the iniquities of Bunyan's youth, through which, as 
through the grated bars of prison windows, these demoniac forms, 
frenzies, and fiery darts of hell came swarming in upon him. 

And, in general, the language of Job is marvellously suited to 
the nature and fierceness of Bunyan's distresses ; only it is to be 
remarked that, in comparison with Bunyan's trials, Job's were but 
temporaryand transitory, while Bunyan's, in each of the great seas 
on which he was tossed, lasted for years. They could both say, 
"Terrors are turned upon me; they pursue my soul as the wind. 
Thou liftest me up to the wind, and causest me to ride upon it. 
The arrows of the Almighty are within me ; the poison thereof 
drinketh up my spirit; the terrors of God do set themselves in 
array against me. He breaketh me with a tempest, and filleth me 
with bitterness. Mine affliction increaseth ; Thou huntest me as a 
fierce lion. Thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through 
visions, so that my soul chooseth strangling and death rather than 
life. God hath taken me by my neck, and shaken me to pieces, 
and set me up for His mark. He breaketh me with breach upon 
breach ; He runneth upon "me like a giant." 

And all the while there was a leering, malignant spirit glaring 
upon both ; not more really, we believe, in the case of Job than in 
that of Bunyan ; and each might have said, in that graphic, 
impressive, powerful imagery of Job, " Mine enemy sliarpeneth Ms 
eyes upon me ; " it is as if you saw the eyes of a hungry tiger 
watching the prey from his lair ; "he gnasheth on me with his 
teeth." But after all, God had the gracious ordering of all these 
tilings, as both Job and Bunyan saw, and joyfully, in time, acknow- 
ledged. " I saw," says Bunyan, in the review of these things 
twenty years afterwards, "that as God had in His hand all the 
providences and dispensations that overtook His elect, so He had 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. XXX111 

His hand in all the temptations that they had to sin against Him ; 
not to animate them to wickedness, but to choose their temptations 
and troubles for them ; and also to leave them for a time to such 
things only as might not destroy but humble them ; as might not 
put them beyond, but lay them in the way of the renewing of His 
mercy." 

But this beauty and loveliness of God's wisdom in choosing, 
refining, and purifying His people, Bunyan could not at this time 
see ; and what added to his misery under these besetments of Satan 
and boilings up of the mire of sin to devour him was, that he found 
his heart so exceeding hard at times, that though he would have 
given a thousand pounds for a tear, he could not shed one, and 
seemed to himself to have no feeling: a very natural result, and 
almost inevitable, at intervals, of his great excess of feeling ; for 
nature itself could not support such an interminable war. 

In the midst of all these evils, let it not be supposed that Bmryan 
was driven either by the fiend Apollyon or by his own heart to the 
neglect of any spiritual duty, or possible means of grace set before 
him. He attended all the while, with great diligence, on the Word 
of God and prayer, hoping still for mercy ; although for the space 
of a whole year his performances of these particular duties were the 
occasions of his sharpest distress by reason of these temptations ; 
and nothing can be a more convincing revelation of the anguish of 
his state, and the intolerableness of these temptations, than the fact 
that, in attending upon the ordinances of God, though he would not 
be driven from those duties, he was then most of all tortured with 
blasphemies ; whether hearing the Word, or reading it, or engaged 
in prayer, the enemy of his soul, and the morbid terrors of his 
heart, took those very opportunities to trouble him. They stood, as 
it were, in the very gates of Paradise, — in the very lanes through 
which Bunyan must pass to heaven, and thronged the passages with 
dreadful faces and with fiery arms. But though all these com- 
plicated evils brought his soul into great straits, so that he was 
laid, as it were, at the mouth of hell, they did never, by reason of 
God's watchful and sustaining grace, prevail with him to slacken 
his zeal for heaven and glory, or diminish his importunity in 
prayer, or turn him away from the sole object of his life, the finding 
of his Saviour. Nay, in these fierce fires his resolutions heaven- 
ward were rather confirmed and purified daily. 

This long and terrible season of conflict and darkness was to 
Bunyan's own soul the Valley of the Shadow of Death, of which 
he has presented so gloomy and powerful a delineation in the 
progress of his Pilgrim. A point most manifestly taken from his 




?XZiy. INTEODUCTOEY MEMOIR OF THE 

own experience at this time is that where he says that he took 
notice that now poor Christian was so confounded that he did not knoiu 
his own voice, and had not the discretion either to stop his ears, or 
to know from whence the blasphemies, that seemed uttered out of 
his own mind, really came. 

Furthermore, there is at this period in Bunyan' s experience the 
interesting event of his meeting with the old tattered copy of 
Martin Luther's Commentary on Oalatians, in which, he says, he 
found his own condition so largely and profoundly handled, as if 
the book had been written out of his own 
heart. This was when he was longing 
much to see some ancient godly man's 
experience ; and indeed it was almost the 
first human being that had met him, to 
comfort him or direct him aright, except 
those poor women at Bedford and " holy 
Mr. Gilford," then- pastor. And Bunyan 
is enforced to say, that he does prefer this 
book of Martin Luther upon the Galatians, excepting the holy Bible, 
before all the books that ever he has seen, as most fit for a wounded 
conscience. 

This, we apprehend, is the original of just that beautiful 
incident recorded in the progress of Christian through the Valley of 
the Shadow of Death, where, when Christian had travelled in this 
disconsolate condition some considerable time, he thought he heard 
the voice of a man as going before him, saying, " Though I walk 
through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no ill, for 
Thou art with me." This, doubtless, was Luther's voice ; and by it 
Bunyan perceived that some others who feared God might be in this 
valley as well as himself, and that God was with them, though in 
that dark and dismal state ; and, therefore, might also be with him, 
although by reason of the darkness, smoke, flames, and rushing evil 
creatures, he could not then perceive it. King David had been 
there also, and Bunyan refers to his experience in the 69th Psahn, 
when he cried, " Deliver me out of the mire, and let me not sink; 
let me be delivered from them that hate me, and out of the deep 
waters. Let not the water-flood overflow me, neither let the deep 
swallow me up, and let not the pit shut her mouth upon me." 
These footprints and voices of Luther and of David were a joy to 
Bunyan's soul. 

And now the storm began to lighten, and the day to break. The 
water-spouts ceased bursting, and, at brief intervals, the sun shone 
down through a bright promise, as through a rift in the thunder- 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. XXXV 

rolling clouds, over the waste of waters. "Hints, touches, and 
short visits of mercy," says Bunyan, " though very sweet at present, 
yet they lasted not, but like to Peter's sheet, were of a sudden 
caught up again to heaven." "But at length," says he, " the temp- 
tation was removed, and I was put into my right mind again, as 
other Christians were. And whereas before, I lay continually 
trembling at the mouth of hell, now methought I was got so far 
therefrom that I could not, when I looked back, scarce discern it." 
And now he felt as if he had evidence from heaven of Ins salvation, 
with many golden seals thereon, in manifestations of Divine grace, 
all hanging in his sight. 

And now, indeed, he enjoyed sweet disclosures of his Saviour's 
love and comfort of His promises, and was led from truth to truth 
by the Spirit of God, and was gaining an experience of grace, 
which itself again was speedily to be tried so as by fire, and 
strengthened by renewed temptations. For such was the course of 
God with this chosen vessel of His grace, as when a workman, with 
a set of vases intended to be of exquisite rareness and beauty, 
prepares the figures of his pictures upon them slowly one by one, 
and carefully completes them ; first gives one set of colours, then 
burns it in, then another set, and burns that, and so on, till all 
the figures and designs are finished ; so the colours that were now 
fresh in Bunyan's Christian experience must be burnt in ; and such 
was the course of God with him from revelations to temptations, 
and from temptations to revelations. 

And as his temptations had been long and fearful, so the dis- 
coveries of grace were now exceedingly rich and entrancing. And 
now he found, as he thought, that he loved Christ dearly. What a 
diary would he have written had he then put pen to paper, to record 
Iris glowing affections and experiences ! But here, again, to have 
begun Ms Pilgrims Progress would have been premature. And if 
Bunyan himself had stopped here, he would soon have sunk down 
from tins apparent flame and exaltation of love into the common 
experience of an ordinary Christian. His newly- acquired and dis- 
covered graces were to be tried to purpose, and that quickly. He 
must have deeper trials yet, and a more thorough beating down of 
all pride, and a longer and more intense purification in the crucible. 
" And so," says Bunyan, " after the Lord had in this manner thus 
graciously delivered me from this great and sore temptation, and 
had set me down so sweetly in the faith of His holy Gospel, and 
had given me such strong consolation and blessed evidence from 
heaven touching my interest in His love through Christ, the tempter 
came upon me again, and that with a more grievous and dreadful 



XXXVI INTRODUCTORY MEMOIE OF THE 

temptation than before." This was the conflict with Apollyon, in a 
strange, extreme form indeed, bnt real and desperate, under the 
morbid thought or imagination of selling Christ, and letting Him go 
for this, that, or the other thing, just what might happen to be 
offered at the moment ; but, whatever it might be, sell him, sell him, 
sell him, running in Bunyan's thoughts incessantly ; and he, as in- 
cessantly, and with great intensity of mind, forcing his spirit against 
the suggestion, and watching with intense earnestness, lest any 
disposition in his mind, or word upon his lips, in favour of yielding 
to it, should get power over him, or escape from him. 

For a whole year this form of temptation continued, and for a 
whole year Ms soul was occupied in resisting it ; it was a morbid 
fascination, as if the eye of a snake had fixed a fluttering bird ; and 
at length Bunyan felt, amidst one of these conflicts, this thought 
pass through his heart, Let Him go if He will. This also was a 
morbid fancy, as well as the other, but it was enough for the destruc- 
tion of Bunyan's peace ; and after thus yielding, as it seemed to him 
he had done, to this temptation to sell Christ, he fell, as a bird that 
is shot from the top of a tree, into a sense of great guilt and fearful 
despair. The case of Esau, as commented upon in the Epistle to 
the Hebrews, instantly began to torment him ; and from this point, 
and very much with the sword of that flaming passage, the conflict 
with Apollyon continued desperate for more than a year. Bunyan 
now feared he had committed the unpardonable sin ; and he never 
knew what it was to be so weary of his life, and yet so afraid to die. 
Nevertheless, he began, with a sad and careful heart, to consider the 
nature and largeness of his sin, and to search for a promise wide 
enough to overcome it. He also examined carefully the cases of 
Peter, David, Judas, Solomon, Manasseh, as a lawyer would turn 
over his files of precedents, or examine the history of like cases ; 
but still he ever came to the conclusion that his sin was far beyond 
theirs, as being point-blank against his Saviour. 

And though there were now and then sweet texts that came 
lighting down upon his soul, as on the wings of angels, with gleams 
of comfort and of heaven, yet the black text about Esau would soon 
hide them as a thunder- cloud. And though sometimes the inviting 
and comforting passages would, as it were, run after him, and halloo 
to his soul to return to God, he was still always afraid to close in 
with them, by reason of the thunder of that text about Esau. He 
was all this while, as the man among the tombs, crying and cutting 
himself with stones. He was tempted to believe that his sin in 
particular was excluded from the number of those for which Christ 
died. In his extremity of distress he begged the prayers of God's 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. XXXVli 

people, and yet trembled lest lie should hear tliem answer that 
they had received intimation from God that they must not pray for 
him. 

The beginning of his deliverance came with this question, which, 
in one of his seasons of deepest gloom, passed through his soul as a 
pleasant wind from heaven, " Didst thou ever refuse to be justified 
by the blood of Christ?" He was compelled to answer, "No." 
Then followed that passage, " See that ye refuse not him that 
speaketh." " This," says Bunyan, " made a strange seizure upon 
my spirit; it brought light with it, and commanded a silence in my 
heart of all those tumultuous thoughts that did before use, like master- 
less hell-hounds, to roar and bellow, and make a hideous noise within 
me." This, for a season, made him feel that there was hope, and 
checked the tide of Ms unbelief in some measure ; and it was to him 
so strange a dispensation, that, after twenty years' calm and prayer- 
ful review of it, he did not feel able to make a judgment of it ; he 
could only present it in wonder, love, and praise, and leave it for the 
day of judgment ; a tiling which eminently shows the soundness of 
Bunyan's mind ; as, indeed, the whole progress of his temptation, by 
the manner in which it led him into a deeper knowledge of the 
"Word of God, and of the various nature of sin and unbelief, and 
into a preparation to deal with men's consciences, shows the mani- 
fold wisdom of God in this severe disciphne with His servant. 

But this present dispensation, though of such strange sweetness 
and power while it lasted, was not enough to conquer Bunyan's 
unbelief, and keep him in the light of Ms Redeemer's countenance. 
Again the clouds returned after the rain. After a few days, he 
entered again into the gloom of mistrust and despair, and found 
great difficulty in prayer, because of the flaming passages in God's 
Word that he thought bore against him, so that to go to God in the 
face of them was like running on the pikes. That saying about 
Esau, he says, " would be set at my heart, even like a flaming sword, 
to keep the way of the tree of life, lest I should take thereof and 
live. Oh, who knows how hard a thing I then found it to come to 
God in prayer!" 

And still Bunyan prayed. The tempter never succeeded in beat- 
ing Ms soul from that sure refuge, in keeping him away from the 
mercy-seat. To that he would still go, and still in the name of 
CMist would plead ; though often, when he has been making for the 
promise, it was as if those texts about Esau, and some other pass- 
ages, were set before Ms soul as a hedge bristling with fixed bayonets. 
He was tempted even to wish that he could alter some of those 
dreadful texts, or make a hole through, them, by wMch he might 

/ 



XXXVH1 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

escape ; but as to their fixedness, certainty, and infallibility as parts 
of the Word of God, he never had the least doubt; and he felt that 
heaven and earth might pass away sooner than one jot or tittle of the 
law, or of grace, could fail, or be altered. 

In this way this whole temptation proved a great additional con- 
firmation of his strong faith in the Scriptures as the word of God, 
and of the certainty and unchangeableness of the plan of salvation. 
The fires blown on him by Satan in this conflict, instead of turning 
him aside from his course, as Apollyon intended, only assisted to 
burn in upon Ms soul the great truths of redemption. " Oh," says 
he, "I cannot now express what I then saw and felt of the steadi- 
ness of Jesus Christ, the rock of man's salvation ; what was done 
could not be undone, added to, nor altered ! " And having gained this 
knowledge in such experience against himself, when he was watch- 
ing for some way of bending the Scriptures, or changing the plan of 
God in his own favour, he was prepared for a firmer and more 
rejoicing faith, when his feet were at length delivered from the 
snares of hell, and placed upon the Rock of Salvation. The Scrip- 
tures that he saw to be so unchangeably against himself when out- 
side the fortress, he found to be all hi his favour, and all combining 
for his soul's protection, when once he was within. 

The temptations endured by Bunyan at this time were surpris- 
ingly similar to some recounted by Luther in that Commentary on 
Galatians with which Bunyan was already familiar. And there is 
one passage in that book, from which, or by means of which, the 
tempter himself may have succeeded in shooting into Bunyan's con- 
science, as from a catapult, the morbid imagination under which he 
had fallen of selling Christ. For Luther relates how such a thing 
happened to one Dr. Krause of Halle, who said, "I have denied 
Christ, and therefore He standeth now before His Father, and 
accuseth me." And, by the illusion of the devil, he had so strongly 
conceived in his mind this imagination, that never, by any exhorta- 
tion, or consolation, or promises of God, could he be brought from 
it. And it had like to have been so with Bunyan himself, after the 
tempter had succeeded in fastening the same morbid imagination 
upon Bunyan's sensitive and trembling heart. But God would not 
permit Bunyan to be tempted above that he was able to bear, and 
would make the temptation itself a source of glorious victory and 
lasting strength. 

The relief from it came gradually and at intervals. One day, as 
Bunyan was absent in a neighbouring town, and sitting to rest him- 
self upon a bench in the street, always thinking upon his spiritual 
difficulties, and exclaiming to himself, " How can God comfort such 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



XXXIX 




a wretch as I am!" the 
words, " This sin is not unto 
death" came into his mind 
with such amazing light and 
power, that it was as if he had 
been raised by them from the 
grave. The unexpectedness 
and fitness, the sweetness 
and glory of this sentence, 
were so marvellous to him, 
that they took away for the 
time all his doubts and fears 
about his sin being unpardon- 
able, and his having no right 
to pray ; and this was an un- 
utterable relief and shelter to him to think that he had as good right 
to the promises and to prayer as any other sinners. And though 
shortly again his faith was losing hold of that support, yet still he 
went earnestly to prayer, and found new comfort and relief in the 
sentence, " / have loved thee with an everlasting love." He strove to 
hold by that promise, which he did, by God's help, for several days, 
although, such was the conflict and anxiety in his soul, that still the 
passage about Esau would be flying in his face like lightning twenty 
times in an hour. Then, again, that sweet passage from the Psalms 
was of great comfort to him : "If Thou, Lord, shouldstmark iniquity, 
O Lord, who should stand? But there is forgiveness with Thee, 
that Thou mayest be feared." A most gracious and encouraging 
passage. 

But still the graces of Bunyan's hope and faith were to go through 
other trials ; they were not yet, as fixtures of his character, ready 
for God's purposes. Bunyan's piety was as a ship destined for a 
long and terrible voyage ; all the materials must be of the soundest, 
securest nature, and put together in the most solid manner, every 
knee and stick of the best tried timber. His hope must be tho- 
roughly scriptural, and nothing in it of the nature of second-hand 
experience. So now, before many weeks, he began to consider 
again, that whatever comfort and peace he thought he might have 
from the word of the promise of life, yet, unless there could be 
found in his refreshment a concurrence and agreement in the Scrip- 
tures, let him think what he would thereof, and hold it never so fast, 
he should find no such thing in the end, for the Scriptures could not 
be broken. And so again his heart began to ache, and on this 
ground, and with this fear, he began with all seriousness to examine 



xl INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

his former comfort. And so again, for a long while Esau troubled 
him, and beat him down, in that whole passage concerning the lost 
birthright, combined with other texts in regard to those who sin wil- 
fully, and those who fall away. He was a very long time in this 
new conflict, mourning up and down during the greater part of it, 
and, as he says, sticking in the jaws of desperation. 

At length one day, when his mind had been all day long dwelling 
with great anxiety upon the question whether the blood of Christ 
was sufficient to save Ms soul, he received a gleam of strong com- 
fort from those blessed words in Hebrews vii. 25 : " Wherefore He is 
able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him, 
seeing He ever liveth to make intercession for them." That word 
able seemed to him a mighty word, and writ in great letters; and 
the sword of that passage was for a little time a thrust to the very 
heart of his fear and doubt. And all this was as the picture that 
Bunyan has drawn among the sights in the house of the Interpreter, 
of the Lord Jesus pouring oil upon the fire of Divine grace in the 
heart on one side, while Satan is unavailingly pouring water on the 
other to quench it. 

And now at length, in prayer, Bunyan's final deliverance from 
this desperate and long-continued conflict began with that promise 
to Paul, "My grace is sufficient for thee." And oh, says Bunyan, 
how good a tiling it is for God to send His word ! For God Himself 
to send it, and not man merely find it ; for about a fortnight before, 
Bunyan was looking at that very place, and then, because it did not 
come near his soul with comfort, and he could not find that it was 
large enough for him, he says he threw down his book in a pet. But 
now he found its arms of grace wide enclosing him, and he rejoiced, 
though still with exceeding great and constant conflicts, for seven or 
eight weeks ; for still tins passage about the sufficiency of grace, and 
the former terrible one about Esau parting with his birthright, 
fought against one another in his soul, and were as a pair of sharp 
glittering swords crossing and clashing, or as a pair of scales going 
up and down; sometimes the hope and sometimes the fear being 
uppermost, sometimes Esau and sometimes Christ. 

It was a conflict now between faith and unbelief, and Bunyan's 
description of it is one of the most instructive and interesting por- 
tions of the Grace Abounding. He still pleaded with God that He 
would give him the whole of that great Scripture about the suffi- 
ciency of Christ's grace, that He would let him have the words for 
thee, and enable him to apply them to himself, as well as the abstract 
sufficiency of grace. For as yet Bunyan could not apply the whole 
sentence, but, as he says, could only gather what God gave, the 




AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM' S PROGRESS. xli 

words for thee being still left out, 

and lie being not able to rise to -,„ 

that appropriating faith in Christ, 'p QM 

as addressing himself, My grace is I Wfa> 

sufficient for thee. So he prayed 

earnestly for the whole passage, and, 

in answer to prayer, the whole came. 

It came unexpectedly, in the midst 

of a meeting of the people of God, 

when Bunyan, in sadness and terror, 

was waiting upon God, with his 

fears again strong upon him ; then 

suddenly, with great power, the 

whole passage broke into his soul, 

with glory and refreshing comfort; 

it broke his heart, filled him full of joy, laid him low, and sent him 

mourning home; a beautiful and most scriptural union of the 

varieties of true religious emotion. He received the whole, My 

grace is sufficient for thee ; and every word was a mighty word 

to lrhn ; and thus it continued for several weeks, when again Esau 

came back once more, and he was now in peace and again in terror, 

sometimes comforted and sometimes tormented. 

And again the question and examination as to the agreement of 
diverse Scriptures in his hope was forced upon him, and he was as if 
some flaw in a very old title to a piece of land had been brought up, 
and the owner compelled to a costly and perplexing litigation. So 
Satan renewed the conflict every step of the way, and Bunyan could 
hardly forbear sometimes wishing the perplexing passages out of the 
book. But he trembled at them ; he quaked at the Apostles ; he 
knew then words were true, and must stand for ever ; and further- 
more, notwithstanding all his distresses, he would not for the world 
rest in the embrace of a false hope ; he dreaded that, and he would 
not take up with any comfort which he could not feel was sanctioned 
by the Scriptures. 

At length the time for the final conquest by the promise came. 
He was one day reflecting upon the singular variety of his frames of 
spirit, and how their fight changed even in a moment, just according 
to the nature of the Scripture that shone upon them, whether of 
grace, for quiet, or of Esau, for torment, when he thought he would 
be thankful to have these Scriptures meet in his heart at once, and 
try their strength together. Accordingly, for this he prayed, and 
this very tiring came to pass, this very conflict and trial took place ; 
the passages met, and, to Bunyan' s unspeakable delight, the terrible 



xlii INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

passage about Esau's birthright began to wax weak, withdraw," and 
vanish ; and the sweet promise about the sufficiency of grace pre- 
vailed with peace and joy. This was a great wonder to Bunyan, 
who, even in regard to God's work upon himself, was almost as a 
child, gazing with amazement at His work upon another ; and after 
twenty years, behold how cautiously and modestly he speaks, and 
with what affecting simplicity and beauty, of the meeting of these 
passages, and the triumph of the promise : " Truly," says he, " I am 
apt to think it was of God ; for the word of the law and wrath must 
give place to the word of life and grace, because, though the word of 
condemnation be glorious, yet the word of life and salvation doth 
far exceed in glory. And Moses and Elias must both vanish, and 
leave Christ and His saints alone." 

And now, out of this conquest, came to Bunyan, as a divine hand 
with leaves from the tree of life, that other comprehensive promise, 
on which Ms soul ought to have rested from the outset : " Him that 
cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out." " Oh, the comfort I 
had," says Bunyan, "from this word, 'in no wise;' as who should 
say, ' By no means, for nothing whatever he hath done.' " And in 
the light, power, and sweetness with which this promise was now 
revealed to Bimyan, we have the origin and peculiarity of the 
admirable little work of his, Come, and welcome, to Jesus Christ ; a 
work written, like the Pilgrim's Progress itself, out of Ms own heart, 
and produced by this very conflict with Apollyon. " Oh, what did I 
see in that blessed sixth of John ! ' Him that cometh unto Me, I will 
in no wise cast out.' If ever Satan and I did strive for any word of 
God in all my life, it was for this good word of Christ ; he at one 
end, and I at the other : oh, what work we made ! It was for tMs in 
John, I say, that we did so tug and strive ; he pulled and I pulled, 
but, God be praised, I overcame Mm; I got sweetness from it." 
And always the sweetness that Bunyan so obtained from the Word 
of God (of which he gives tMs almost ludicrous account, out of the 
deep vein of humour in his character), with all passages thus fought 
for, were the source of great power to him, and were put to great 
use. " They were the nest of honey," as he said afterwards, " in the 
dead, conquered lion." 

And now, having got tMs fortress and vantage-ground in Ms pos- 
session, and a solid comfort in Christ, out of which he could sally 
forth against Ms enemies, Bunyan began to take heart so far as to 
come up and examine both Ms own sin and those terrible Scriptures 
under wliich he had so long lain trembling, and afraid even to ques- 
tion them. But Ms perils and the anguish of his wounds had made 
Mm very critical, and carefully and critically did he now look at the 



AUTHOE OF THE PILGEIM'S PEOGRESS. xliii 

nature both of his own sin and of those dreadful texts that had 
well-nigh slain him with despair. And now he found, on drawing 
near to them and looking them in the face, as a child of God from 
the bosom of the promise, that they were not so grim and terrible in 
reality, but, rightly understood, were in agreement with the promise, 
and not against it. So after this thorough and believing examina- 
tion, the thunder of the tempest was all gone, and only a few big 
scattered drops now and then fell upon him, though still the very 
memory of the thunder and the flames was fearful. 

And now indeed the hand came to Bunyan with leaves from the 
tree of life, as he has so sweetly described it in the Pilgrim's Pro- 
gress after Christian's fight with Apollyon, and he was refreshed 
with heavenly refreshments. He now found Christ made unto Ins 
soul of God, his wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemp- 
tion. Christ, in all His exaltation and glory, was now the subject of 
his thoughts, the object of his affections, the life of his soul ; he 
was loosed from his afflictions and irons, his temptations fled away, 
the dreadful Scriptures of God left off troubling him, and he went 
rejoicing in the grace and love of God. And out of this joy and 
peace it was, after such long and fearful conflicts, that he gained 
courage to be at length, in the year 1653, propounded to the Baptist 
Church of Christ in Bedford, by whose members he was received 
into a fellowship greatly valued by him in the order and ordinances 
of Christ in the Gospel. " 'Twas glorious to me," says Bunyan, 
"to see His exaltation, and the worth and prevalency of all His 
benefits, and that because now I could look from myself to Him, 
and would reckon that all those graces of God that now were green 
on me, were yet but like those cracked groats and fourpence -half- 
pennies that rich men carry in their purses, when their gold is in 
their trunks at home. Oh, I saw my gold was in my trunk at 
home, in Christ my Lord and Saviour. Now Christ was all, all my 
righteousness, all my sanctification, and all my redemption." 

We have said that this two years' scene of temptation and trial 
was the conflict with Apollyon in the Pilgrims Progress. We 
think this is clear, both from its introduction and its conclusion, as 
well as its nature and continuance. It is true, that if so, then the 
Valley of the Shadow of Death came before it in Bunyan's experi- 
ence, whereas he has placed the valley after the conflict in Chris- 
tian's experience. We believe that he chose to do this, in order not 
to make his own experience too exclusively or too closely the model. 
But that these two great and distinct periods of Bunyan's tempta- 
tions on which we have been dwelling were the original types or 
models of those remarkable pages in the Pilgrims Progress devoted 



xllV INTRODUCTOEY MEMOIR OF THE 

to the fight with Apollyon in the Valley of Humiliation, and the 
passage of Christian through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, 
we think there can be no doubt whatever. 

And, moreover, these two great and distinct periods were the sea- 
sons in which Bunyan gained the greater part of that knowledge of 
the Scriptures and of the human heart and of the wiles of the 
great adversary of souls, and that deep, rich, original, and powerful 
experience in the things of the Spirit of God, which prepared him 
to write such works as The Pilgrims Projress, The History of the 
Town of Mansoul, the Come, and welcome, to Jesus Christ, and The 
Jerusalem Sinner saved. And his own remarks upon the results of 
those periods of temptation, especially the last, and upon the posi- 
tion and mistakes of his own soul, as well as the dealings of God 
and the wiles of the tempter, are full of beauty, thoughtfulness, and 
good sense ; they are the conclusions and instructions of a ripe and 
mellow piety, and of a judgment disciplined and sanctified by the 
truth, the providence, and the grace of God. 

We have seen the perverseness of Bunyan's unbelief under the 
pressure of his spiritual anxieties, and beneath the assaults of the 
tempter, in refusing to accept and rest upon the broad, plain promises 
of God's word, and in taking but part of a sentence, when he should 
have embraced the whole, as in the case of the passage, " My grace 
is sufficient for thee." This was an error of unbelief. We have 
seen also how he wanted everytliing from God ; it was not enough 
for him to find it written in God's Word, but it was not a word for 
him, unless he could feel that God Himself gave it to him. Now 
certainly, in its proper place, this was a very blessed feeling ; and 
the habit of Bunyan in rejecting comfort until he felt that he thus 
received the word from God was doubtless with him a som*ce of 
great originality and power. But it might, in another mind, have 
degenerated into mere superstition and fanaticism. Bunyan ought 
to have taken all the promises he found in God's Word to sinners 
as promises to himself: and the fact that they were in God's Word 
should have been sufficient foundation for his faith to rest upon. 
Neither should he have split a passage in two, and restricted God's 
grace to one half of it, but should at once have received the whole, 
not putting by the Word of Promise when he found it. 

And indeed, the fierceness of the second period of temptation did 
at length drive him from that habit, as he himself says, in a very 
striking and instructive passage in the Grace Abounding : " By this 
temptation I was greatly holden off from my former foolish practice 
of putting by the Word of Promise when it came into my mind; 
but now, like a man sinking, I would catch at all I saw. Formerly, 




AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. xlv 

I thought I might not meddle with the promise unless I felt its 
comfort ; but now it was no time thus to do ; the avenger of blood 
too hardly did pursue me. Now, therefore, was I glad to catch at 
that Word which yet I feared I had no ground or right to own ; and 
even to leap into the bosom of that promise, which yet I feared did 
shut its heart against me. Now also would I labour to take the 
Word as God hath laid it down, without restraining the natural 
force of one syllable thereof. I began to consider that God hath a 
bigger mouth to speak with than I had a heart to conceive with, 
and also that God spake not His words in haste, or in an unadvised 
heat, but with infinite wisdom and judgment, and hi very truth and 
faithfulness." 

Bunyan adds to this, that often, in 
his greatest agonies, he had to flounce 
towards the promise, as it were, con- 
cluding, though as one almost bereft of 
his wits through fear, " On this will I 
rest and stay, and leave the fulfilling 
of it to the God of heaven that made 
it." And this was real faith. And oh, 
how great a lesson, and how life-giving and full of power, for 
Bunyan thus to learn ! 

Now it is to be remembered that Bunyan's record of all these 
tilings was made not till full twenty years after he had experienced 
them; when he could look back with a calm, impartial review of 
all the way through which the Lord his God had led hhn. Buiryan's 
Grace Abounding is not the hasty record of a diary thrown into print ; 
it is the cool judgment of a man of strong sense and long-tried 
piety, in regard to God's gracious methods of discipline with his soul ; 
and the freedom of the man, both from superstition and fanaticism, is 
remarkably apparent through the whole of it, and this notwithstand- 
ing his vivid, overmastering imagination and impulsive tendencies. 
It was God who was guiding and teaching him, not by a system of 
theology, cut according to the pattern of the Fathers, nor by any 
Church, to conform liim to its self-assumed dictates and second-hand 
teachings, but by His Divine Spirit and Word. And as God per- 
mitted Bunyan's own character to be formed after no human model, 
so He kept him always in the most humble and child-like apprecia- 
tion of his own attainments, and preserved him from ever attempting 
to set up his own experience as the rule for others. 

He knew too much of the depths and windings of sin in his own 
heart, even at the best times, ever to do this. His experience and 
opinions corresponded with those of Edwards, who says, speaking of 

9 



xlvi INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

the mixture of evil in the best experiences : " It is not to be sup- 
posed that Christians ever have any experiences in this world that 
are wholly pure, entirely spiritual, without any mixture of what is 
natural and carnal. Yea, there is commonly a much greater mixture 
than persons for the most part seem to have any imagination of. I 
have often thought that the experiences of true Christians are very 
frequently, as it is with some kinds of fruits, that are enveloped with 
several coverings of thick shells or pods, which are thrown away by 
him who gathers the fruit, and but a very small part of the whole bulk 
is the pure kernel that is good to eat." Buuyan, when he wrote the 
Grace Abounding, gathered the fruit, and threw the pods away. 

It is remarkable that Bunyan declares that, " of all the temptations 
he ever met with in his life, to question the being of God and the 
truth of His Gospel was the worst, and the worst to be borne." This 
grievous temptation was part of that terrible storm in which Bunyan, 
as we have seen, was driven up and down for two years, as by a 
mighty whirlwind ; but his language intimates that even at a later 
period the foundations of his soul were sometimes similarly shaken. 
Gradually the unassailable certainty of an experience such as few 
men ever passed through, in the truth, fire, and power of God's 
Word, conquered all doubt, and the strength of Christ was made 
perfect in Bunyan's weakness. 

And here we must note the shortsightedness and superficial sciolism 
of that spiritual quackery which would set down the extremes of hope 
and fear, light and darkness, comfort and despair, joy and misery, 
in Bunyan's experience, as the fever and ague of a disturbed nervous 
system, or a frenzied mind. The wondrous record in the Psalms of 
the human heart, as sanctified by grace, is sufficient witness unto us 
from God Himself, that such changes belong to the genuine ex- 
perience of a child of God, They are inevitable consequences of the 
powerful workings of Divine grace in us, gradually conquering sin, 
although they are much greater in some cases than in others. We 
have reason to believe that these alternations are necessary through 
the whole of our imperfect state on earth, as parts of God's gracious 
discipline, whereby He makes us partakers of His holiness. 

Yet they are sometimes unaccountable ; and Bunyan himself says, 
" I have wondered much at this one thing, that though God doth 
visit my soul with never so blessed a discovery of Himself, yet I have 
found again that such hours have attended me afterwards, that I 
have been in my spirit so filled with darkness, that I could not so 
much as once conceive what that God, and what that comfort was, 
with which I have been refreshed." 

This is strong language. Yet Bunyan says again (and the record 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. xlvii 

may have been a comfort to many), "I have sometimes seen more 
in a line of the Bible than I could well tell how to stand under; and 
yet at another time the whole Bible hath been to me as dry as a stick ; 
or rather, my heart hath been so dead and dry unto it, that I could 
not conceive the least dram of refreshment, though I have looked it 
all over." Call this, if you please, a fitful piety ; it is more or less 
the experience of all ardent Christians, and ever will be, to the end 
of time, of all who are carried into the deep tilings of God. 

The era of Bunyan's uniting with the Church was a sweet season 
for him, but in its sweetness only of transitory continuance ; it was by 
no means the period of his perfect deliverance from his spiritual foes 
and distresses. It was simply as a season of calm weather, during 
which his weather-beaten soul, tempest-tossed and half a wreck, fled 
into a quiet haven, where there were days secure from the tempest, 
and means for refitting. But he was to adventure again into the 
storm ; and very soon after his union with the Church, there was 
developed within him, in the smoke and fire of his own feelings, 
what might be called a second, though a someAvhat abridged, 
experience of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Even at the 
ordinance of the Lord's Supper, the most terrible deformed fancies 
and agitating fears and distressing interruptions beset his soul. 
There was a recurrence of the same blasphemous suggestions that 
had formerly broken his peace, and filled his inmost being with 
anguish ; and there was, in some degree, a recurrence of the same 
morbid state of the mind and imagination as that which at the first 
had afflicted him. And these things continued for nearly a year, 
with scarcely any rest or ease ; but God at length graciously and 
entirely delivered him. 

Then he had intervals of sickness, during which he had great fears 
of death, produced by looking at himself instead of Christ, and seeing 
the deadness of his own spirit, the prevalence of wandering thoughts 
in prayer, dulness in holy duties, wearisomeness in all good things, 
want of love to God. All these evils distressed him and filled him 
with gloom ; for while he was looking back over his past experiences 
of God's goodness, to comfort himself therewith, there came flocking 
into his mind the innumerable company of these his sins and trans- 
gressions, by which the evidence of his blessed state from those 
former experiences was all taken away, or quite effectually hidden 
from him. Out of these fears and depths he was signally delivered 
in the only way in which ever any soul can truly come out of them, 
by looking to Jesus. And his assuring and comforting sight of 
Christ as his only Saviour, and of Christ's merits as the only ground 
of his forgiveness and acceptance with God, came to him through 



xlviii INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OP THE 

such great Scriptures as these : " Ye are justified freely by His grace 
through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus ; " and also, " Not by 
works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his 
mercy He hath saved us." 

The thorough understanding of these passages made an amazing 
change in him, and it was out of such a realisation of the truth of 
God that his views of justification by Christ's righteousness only 
were completed and established; so that afterwards he could himself 
present Christ, and faith in Him, most clearly and powerfully to the 
conscience of the sinner. These Scriptures spoke to Bunyan's 
inmost soul, and seemed to say to him from God, " Sinner, thou 
thinkest that, because of thy sins and infirmities, I cannot save thy 
soul ; but behold, my Son is by Me, and upon Him I look, and not 
on thee, and shall deal with thee according as I am pleased with 
Him." These Scriptures, like Christ's enfolding arms of grace and 
mercy, took Bunyan up on high. 

But still, for a time, he was subject to sudden and extreme alter- 
nations of spirit ; and these continued to be the characteristics of 
his piety to such a degree, that when he seemed to be walking com- 
fortably with God, and enjoying His service, suddenly there would 
fall upon him a great cloud of darkness, hiding from him the things 
of God and of Christ in such a manner, that he was as if he had 
never seen or known them. Bunyan was still a learner in the school 
of faith. And, likewise, he would at times be afflicted with such a 
senseless, heartless frame of spirit, that, like his own Pilgrim, he 
would have to fall suddenly from running to walking,- and then from 
walking to climbing, as if his hands and feet had been tied or bound 
with chains. 

He relates his having gone mourning in 
this condition some three or four days, 
when suddenly, as he was musing at his 
own fireside, while his beloved wife, to 
whom he seems to have confided his 
spiritual conflicts, was busy at her work 
beside him, he again remembered the only 
true ground of hope, and the words "./ 
must go to Jesus " sounded so powerfully 
in his heart, that his darkness and atheism 
fled away, and he turned to his wife 
with the question, " Is there really such a 
Scripture as this, " I must go to Jesus ? " Then, after musing a few 
moments, the connected links of the bright passage in the 12th of 
Hebrews came to him : " Ye are come to Mount Zion, to the city of 




AUTHOR OP THE PILGRIM' S PROGRESS. xlix 

the living God, to the heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable 
company of angels, to the general assembly and Church of the 
first-born, which are written in heaven, and to God the Judge of 
all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the 
Mediator of the New Testament." Into the glory of every word 
of this wonderful passage the gracious Spirit of God, whose work it 
is to take of the tilings that are Christ's, and shew them to the soul, 
led Bunyan; and that night was one of great and inexpressible 
grace, triumph, and joy to him. In all his life, he says, he had few 
better seasons, and that divine passage was ever afterwards a 
great refreshment to him. 

Now all these changeful experiences, thus far related, seem to have 
characterised the discipline of Bunyan up to a year or more after the 
time of his uniting with the Church, say up to the year 1655. At 
this time, the knowledge of his character, and the glowing freshness 
and power with which he spoke of his feelings to his fellow- Chris- 
tians, led some of the most experienced and judicious among them 
to persuade him sometimes to attempt a word of exhortation in their 
social Christian meetings. The very thought of this at first terrified 
Bunyan ; but after some entreaty, he consented to make the trial, 
and did begin accordingly, though in much weakness and trembling, 
in one or two private assemblies. Then by degrees, when some of 
the more experienced of the brethren went into the country to teach, 
they took Bunyan along with them ; and as his gifts were more and 
more developed and known in these little exercises, the Church at 
length prevailed with him to consent to a more particular appoint- 
ment to the work of the ministry ; and so, after solemn prayer with 
fasting, having been manifestly prepared by the Holy Spirit for such 
a work, he was more particularly called forth and appointed to a 
more ordinary and public preaching of the Word. He was conscious 
of a call of God within him, by the Divine Spirit and by the holy 
Scriptures, to which he yielded, and by which he was guided. Yet 
he was at this very time greatly distressed with the fiery darts of the 
Wicked One concerning his own eternal state ; though this tempta- 
tion and experience only served to quicken his compassion for other 
souls, and, instead of turning him away from the endeavour to alarm 
and save them, greatly animated him in that work, pressed him 
onwards, and gave him power in it. 

It pleased God that thus he should begin his work in great per- 
gonal weakness and fear, yet with such anxious pity and alarm for 
the souls of men, arising in part out of all that he himself was still 
suffering, that he was led with great earnestness to seek the most 
awakening truths in God's Word to apply to the conscience. And 



1 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

tliis fervent pity for souls, this intense sympathising anxiety, was a 
great argument with Bunyan that God had really called him to 
preach the Gospel. So onward he went in his work for the space of 
two years, confining himself to God's Word in the scope of his own 
experience, which was during that period so remarkable, that it is no 
wonder that, under the power of it, he proved a most awakening 
preacher ; for he preached to the people those terrors of the law and 
that guilt of transgression, the sense of which lay heavy on his own 
soul. " Indeed," says he, " I have been as one sent to them from the 
dead; I went myself in chains to preach to them in chains, and carried 
that fire in my own conscience that I persuaded them to be aware of. 
I can truly say, and that without dissembling, that, when I have 
been to preach, I have gone full of guilt and terror even to the 
pulpit- door, and there it hath been taken off, and I have been at 
liberty in my mind until I have done my work ; and then immediately, 
even before I could get down the pulpit-stairs, I have been as bad as 
I was before ; yet God carried me on, but surely with a strong hand, 
for neither guilt nor hell could take me off my work." 

Now, if Bunyan' s life were to be written a thousand times over, 
such a passage as this ought not to be omitted. It was the way of 
God's dealing with him until he had been preaching at least two 
years ; and it was of marvellous efficacy in preserving him from the 
incursions of spiritual pride, on account of those rich discovered 
gifts for the ministry so remarkably developed in him ; a pride which 
would have been to him more dangerous by far than a thousand such 
burdens of guilt and terror as he bore about in his conscience, or the 
attack of a whole legion of fiery flying demons, with darts tipped 
with blasphemies and unbelief. 

After these two years' discipline of this painful nature, during 
which his preaching was mainly in words of fire to rouse men's con- 
sciences, the same gracious and covenant-keeping God vouchsafed to 
liim a change in that discipline, in sweet discoveries of free pardon- 
ing grace in Christ, with much personal peace and comfort ; and so, 
according to that new experience, Bunyan brought new things out of 
his spiritual treasures, always preaching from God's Word just what 
he himself saw and felt. Now he preached the glorious things of 
Christ's grace and righteousness with that same fire and power with 
which before he had preached the condemnation of the lost sinner ; 
now with a heart glowing with love, as before with a conscience tor- 
tured with conviction. Two or three years God kept him under this 
delightful discipline, preaching in this heavenly strain, led constantly 
to greater heights and depths himself, that he might lead others 
through the same divine realities. And he says that, in the course 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM' S PROGRESS. li 

of his preaching, especially when engaged in the doctrine of life by 
Christ without works, he has been as if an angel of God had stood 
by at his back to encourage him, the truth in Christ came in with 
such power and heavenly evidence upon his own soul. Nor did he ever 
dare to make use of other men's experience, but ever kept simply to 
what he himself learned from the Word and Spirit of Christ ; so that 
he could say with Paul to the Galatians, " I certify you, brethren, that 
the gospel preached by me is not after man • for I neither received it of 
man, neither was I taught it, but by the revelation of Jesus Christ." 

With all this, Bunyan was not always in the enjoyment of freedom 
of thought and a ready utterance while preaching, but was subject, 
even in that, to something the same impulsive changes as in his own 
feelings " Even," says he, " when I have begun to speak the Word 
with much clearness, evidence, and liberty of speech, yet sometimes, 
before the ending of that opportunity, I have been so blinded and 
estranged from the things I have been speaking, and have been also 
so straitened in my speech as to utterance before the people, that I 
have been as if I had not known or remembered what I have been 
about, or as if my head had been in a bag all the time of my exer- 
cise." And if ever Bunyan was tempted to the vain -glorious liftings 
up of his heart through freedom and success in this blessed work for 
Christ, small joy did he ever find to give way to that, for it was, he 
says, his every day's portion to be let into the evil of his own heart, 
and made to see such a multitude of corruptions and infirmities 
therein, that his pride had to give way to the bitterness of self-con- 
demnation and shame. 

In this way Bunyan went on preaching without molestation for the 
space of five or six years, till the month of November, 1660. On the 
12th of that month the hand of State -and -Church tyranny was to be 
laid upon him, and he was to come into painful conflict and connexion 
with the times; though thus far he had pursued the work of God 
almost as if unconscious that there was such a thing as " the times " 
to be regarded. And, indeed, thus far it had been a time of Christian 
liberty, under the brief but glorious and free protectorate of Cromwell ; 
the period during which Baxter also pursued his w^ork in the ministry so 
calmly, uninterruptedly, earnestly, and successfully at Kidderminster. 
Both Baxter and Bunyan were now to be interrupted and fettered 
by the restoration of State-and-Church tyranny to its supremacy in 
the kingdom. 

And now, before we consider this great stage in his life, throughout 
the whole of which God so signally caused the wrath of man to 
praise Him, and displayed the glory of His Divine prerogative of 
bringing good out of evil, let us set down, year by year, the chrono- 



Hi INTEODUCTOEY MEMOIE OF THE 

logy of experiences we have thus far passed over. Up to this period 
it is mainly a chronology of discipline and of preparation ; after this 
period it is mainly the chronology of patient suffering and of rich 
fruits. Up to this period Satan was at work upon Bunyan, as it 
were personally ; after this period the assaults of the devil were 
mostly through the ministry of men and hierarchies. And whereas, 
up to this period, the influence and the fruits of Bunyan's genius were 
but limited and transitory (except that no mans work or influence 
can at any time be transitory who is made God's instrument in pre- 
paring individual souls for heaven), after this period his power was 
to be as wide as the world. The agencies of men, devils, and hier- 
archical despotisms were but as mechanical arrangements and forces, 
by which God would take this humble and hitherto comparatively 
obscure trophy of His own grace, and set it as a city on a hill. 
Through the strange instrumentality of a prison, this light under a 
bushel should become a beacon to the world. The period previous 
to the year 1660 might be called the Chronology of Bunyan's 
experiences; the period after that year, the Chronology of his works. 
The thing might be set down as in a tablet, thus, beginning with 
the starting point from the City of Destruction. 

1628. The natural man, John Bunyan, was bom. 

1646. He was married, and his awakening began. 

1647. An external reformation from his vices for about a year. 

1648. A great year. His first lessons from the company of poor and godly 

women sitting in the sun. His intense study of the whole Bible 
commenced. His encounter with the books and men of the Ranters ; 
his trials about faith, and his temptation to work a miracle. His 
year's study to find the passage in the Apocrypha. His many months 
of fear, fainting, and fire, and then the first disclosure of his mind 
to those poor women of Bedford and their introduction of him to 
[' holy Mr. Giftbrd." 

1649. His first view of the love of Christ, followed by the great storm of about 

a year's continuance, and the temptation as to the being of a G-od. 

1650. The meeting with Luther, the deliverance into the liberty of Christ, 

and the light of the Word, followed by the temptation to sell 
Christ, for the space of a year. 

1651. The conflict and agony after this temptation. 

1652. The gradual and triumphant deliverance therefrom. 

1653. The union with the visible Church of Christ. 

1654. Great conflicts renewed for three-fourths of a year, with sicknesses, 

despondencies, and triumphs. 

1655. His ordination by the Church to the work of the Gospel ministry. 

1656. > His preaching from the experience of guilt and of fire, as a man in 

1657. ) chains to men in chains, out of compassion and alarm for souls. 

iflKq f His preaching of Christ's grace and righteousness from the fire of love 

i aan ' ( and the revelation of Jesus Christ. 
looO. ) 

1660. His lighting upon the den in the prison of Bedford, and his discipline 
from God there, preparatory to the Dream of the Pilgrim's Progress. 



AUTHOE OF THE PILGEIM'S PEOGEESS. liii 

But this lighting upon a certain place where there was a den, with 
which Bunyan opens the Pilgrims Progress, was not by any means 
as a man quietly lies down to rest himself in sleep. The grasp of a 
remorseless Church-despotism was upon him, because he would 
practise and teach the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, 
in preaching and praying without a Prayer-book, but with Christian 
souls, whenever and wherever gathered to hear God's Word. He 
was indicted for maintaining unlawful assemblies and conventicles, 
and for not conforming to the Church of England. Ah, this Non- 
conformity, this singular and obstinate virtue and grace of the 
assertion and practice of spiritual freedom in worshipping God ac- 
cording to the dictates of a conscience guided by His Word, was quite 
as intolerable to the Church of England as it had been to the Church 
of Rome. In truth, it has always been found a thing very dangerous 
to Church- and- State religions, and ever will be. In Rome, as yet, 
the manner of the hierarchists was to treat this dangerous heresy of 
religious freedom with fire ; in England, hi Bunyan's time, they had 
become mostly satisfied with fines, banishment, and the prison. So, it 
being deemed that the Established Church was not safe while such 
men as John Bunyan were roaming up and down the country with 
the Gospel, they came upon him, even in the very act of preaching the 
Gospel to the poor, and shut him up in prison, out of which, as from 
a great commanding pulpit, God was intending that he should preach 
it to rich and poor all over the world. We love to record the occurrence 
and the manner of such glorious instances of the triumph of God's 
sovereign wisdom and grace over man's pride and arrogance. 

God just made Avhat use He pleased of the hierarchical despotism 
and its instruments, as cranks and pulleys to hoist the living stone, 
that had been so long in preparation, into that place He would have 
it occupy in the rearing of His living temple. The persecutors of 
John Bunyan were but as hewers of wood and drawers of water to 
accomplish God's purposes. Even at the very beginning of their 
work, we see how everything was turned into apt material for the 
use of Bunyan's genius. The very manner of his arrest, the 
character of the judges that tried him, the forms of law passed 
through, were the germs of graphic, glowing pages in his book ; 
having learned so much in the school of grace, he was now to learn 
some things in human life that God saw necessary for his more 
perfect education as a master-workman. 

The constable in this case of Church-and- State versus the Gospel 
came upon him, as we have said, in November, 1060. His seizure 
was one of the first fruits of the restoration of Charles II. to the 
throne of the British kingdom. He was about to have preached to 

h 



liv 



INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 




a small assembly of country people at Samsell by Harlington in 
Bedfordshire, on the subject of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, from 
the text, " Dost thou believe on the Son of God?" They had engaged 
in prayer for the Divine blessing, and were there, with their Bibles 
in their hands, ready to speak and hear. Bunyan could easily have 

escaped if he had chosen, having 
had warning beforehand; but he 
feared discouraging the people, and 
therefore went on boldly in the 
service ; and even after the con- 
stable had arrested him, exhorted 
them to be of good cheer, for that 
it was a mercy to suffer upon so 
good account. 

The next day he was had before 
the justice, and thence to jail, where, 
after he had lain five or six days, 
endeavours were made to procure 
his release, but without success. "Whereat," says he, (1 1 was not 
at all daunted, but rather glad, and saw evidently that the Lord had 
heard me ; for before I went down to the justice, I begged of God, 
that if I might do more good by being at liberty than in prison, that 
then I might be set at liberty ; but if not, His will be done. And 
verily, at my return. I did meet my God sweetly in the prison again, 
comforting of me, and satisfying of me that it was His will and mind 
that I should be there, where I lie waiting the good will of God to 
do with me as He pleaseth, knowing that not one hair of my head 
can fall to the ground without the will of my Father which is in 
heaven. Let the rage and malice of man be never so great, they can 
do no more, nor go no further, than God permits them ; but when 
they have done their worst, we know all things shall work together 
for good to them that love God." 

The dialogues in which Bunyan has recorded the forms, argu- 
ments, and facts of his imprisonment and examination before the 
judges, together with the courageous interview of his noble wife with 
them in justification of his conduct and application for his release, 
are among the richest pages of character and truth in all English 
literature. Never did the truth of God and the wickedness of unjust 
human law come into closer, sharper conflict : and never were the 
truths of the Gospel and the principles of religious freedom urged 
with more direct and homely power upon the conscience. Bunyan, 
being arraigned for " devilishly and perniciously abstaining from 
coming to church to hear divine service, and for being a common 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGEIM's PEOGEESS. lv 

upliolder of several unlawful meetings and conventicles, to the great 
disturbance and distraction of the good subjects of the kingdom, 
contrary to the laws of our sovereign lord the king," confessed to 
nothing but that he had had delightful meetings with his brethren, 
both for prayer and mutual exhortation, " with the sweet comforting 
presence of the Lord among them for their encouragement, blessed 
be His name therefor." 

Then said the Justice Keelin, " Hear your judgment. You must 
be had back again to prison, and there lie for three months following ; 
and at three months' end, if you do not submit to go to church to 
hear divine service, and leave your preaching, you must be banished 
the realm ; and if, after such a day as shall be appointed you to be 
gone, you shall be found in this realm, or be found to come over 
again without special license from the king, 'you must stretch by the 
neck for it, I tell you plainly." 

Then answered Bunyan, and it was as noble an answer to an un- 
righteous verdict and threat as is to be found in all human history : 
" As to this matter, I am at a point with you, foe if I were out of 

THE PRISON TO-DAY, I WOULD PREACH THE GOSPEL AGAIN TO-MORROW, 
BY THE HELP OF GoD." 

What can the poor miserable instruments and agencies of human 
oppression do with such a man ? The fire of God is in Mm, and the 
hand of God carries him on ; and though men may burn Ms body, and 
so think that they have put Mm out of existence, yet man's fire cannot 
put out God's fire, but it still burns on. The martyr's soul, before it 
goes to God in glory, kindles a light in men's hearts and memories 
that still shines heavenward, whatever men may do to quench it. 
And out of the prison it shines, if they put the body in a dungeon ; 
and if they do tMs because the man chooses to pray without a 
Common Prayer Book, as the hierarchists once did with Darnel, 
because he would not pray with the state liturgy, it is only translating 
him to a place where he may have more perfect and uninterrupted 
communion with God according to Ms own conscience, and in God's 
own way. 

"What would the insane persecutors of freedom in preaching and 
praying not give if they could only get into the soul with their instru- 
ments of torture, if they could only make that a dungeon, if they 
could only reach the secret place of freedom, where the flame of 
prayer rises, invisible and intangible, to God ! What would they not 
give, if only they could enter that holy of holies, where the Spirit of 
God helpeth the infirmities of His children, and teaches them how 
to pray, and maketh intercession for them with the groanings that 
cannot be uttered, according to the will of God ; if they could enter 



Ivi INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

there, with their constables, their stocks, their thumbscrews, their 
rubrics, their catalogues of sole permitted and prescribed ceremonies, 
traditions, and petitions, their trials, their judgments, their confisca- 
tions, interdictions, distrainings, muzzlings, and banishments ! What 
would they not give, if they could indeed come between the soul and 
God, — if they could indeed say, with a true spiritual efficacy, as they 
do with the efficacy of a posse comitatus, that no man shall offer any 
petition to God, save in the form and language which the Church and 
State have directed! Ay, that is a tyranny that man never can 
accomplish, that God never did and never will permit. And yet, 
without that, all is as vain as the antics of a crowned fool setting his 
feet upon the sea-shore, and commanding the rising tide not to dare 
to wet them ! 

Bunyan lay in the prison twelve years, weighing and pausing, and 
pausing again, the grounds and foundation of those principles for 
which he thus suffered; having not only at his trial asserted them, but 
ever since, through all that tedious track of time, examined them in 
cold blood a thousand times, and found them good. This is his striking 
language, towards the end of those twelve years, in the preface to 
his work entitled A Confession of my Faith and Reason of my Prac- 
tice, written out of prison, with a solemn defiance to his enemies' 
themselves, as his judges, " to find anything in his writing or preach- 
ing to render him worthy of twelve years' imprisonment, or one that 
deserveth to be hanged or banished for ever, according to their tre- 
mendous sentence ; " together with a solemn declaration that " rather 
than violate his faith and principles by consenting that his soul 
should be governed in any of its approaches to God by the supersti- 
tious inventions of this world, putting out his own eyes, and commit- 
ting himself to the blind to lead him, he would lay there still, the 
Almighty God being his help and shield, and still suffer, if frail life 
might continue so long, even till the moss should grow upon his eyebrows I " 

It was out of the prison, we doubt not, that Bunyan wrote, not 
only the Grace Abounding, but that admirable discourse on prayer, in 
which he reiterates and draws out with powerful simplicity, by the 
guidance of the Holy Scriptures, the reasons he had briefly presented 
to the judges on his trial for Ms rejection of the Common Prayer 
Book, and of any and every ceremonial or religious compilation 
ordered and imposed by man. It was by the Spirit and the Word 
that Bunyan received God's teachings, by the Spirit and the Word 
that he communed with God, by the Spirit and the Word that he 
received God's comforts, and he would have others to do so likewise ; 
and therefore it was, and because he had seen and known so clearly 
in his own experience and in others' heartless formalism, the evils of 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. lvii 

a religion prescribed and. received from man, that in the beginning of 
his imprisonment, and while the jailer would grant him some liberty, 
he " used every occasion put into his hand to visit the people of God, 
exhorting them to be steadfast in the faith of Jesus Christ, and to 
take heed that they touched not the Common Prayer, but to mind the 
Word of God, which giveth direction to Christians in every point, 
being able to make the man of God perfect in all things through 
faith in Jesus Christ, and thoroughly to furnish him up to all good 
works." 

It was by the Spirit and the Word that Bunyan's prison was made 
better to him than a palace, as it had been by the Spirit and the 
Word that his spiritual temptations, and his inward agonising con- 
flicts, were made a triumph and a glory. And these original charac- 
teristics of his own piety, so full of life, power, and fire, he longed to 
communicate to others, longed to have all men baptized with the 
same spirit. With what energy, in other works beside the Grace 
Abounding, does he dwell upon the glory of the Scriptures, and urge 
the effectual life-giving belief of them by the Spirit ! Thus, in that 
powerful book published in 1658, entitled Sighs from Hell, he says, 
" I tell thee, friend, there are some promises that the Lord hath 
helped me to lay hold of, through and by Jesus Christ, that I would 
not have out of the Bible for as much gold and silver as can lie 
between York and London piled up to the stars ; because through 
them Christ is pleased by His Spirit to convey comfort to nry soul. 
I say, when the law curses, when the devil tempts, when hell-fire 
flames in my conscience, my sins, with the guilt of them, tearing of 
me, then is Christ revealed so sweetly to my soul through the 
promises, that all is forced to fly, and leave off to accuse my soul. 
So also when the world frowns, when the enemies rage, and threaten 
to kill me, then also the precious, the exceeding great and precious 
promises weigh down all, and comfort the soul against all. This is 
the effect of believing the Scriptures savingly ; for they that do so 
have, by and through the Scriptures, good comfort, and also ground of 
hope, believing those things to be their own which the Scriptures 
hold forth." 

But the work of all works, that for which God permitted Bmryan 
to be thrown into prison, and would not let him out until His purpose 
was accomplished, was the Pilgrims Progress. That this work was 
written in prison has been recently and very effectually demonstrated 
by Mr. Offor, in his curious, instructive, and valuable introduction 
to the edition of the Allegory published by the Hanserd Knollys 
Society. Indeed, Bunyan's own commencement of his great work, 
together with the marginal note descriptive of the topography of the 



lviii INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

Den, as being in literal reality the jail, was quite enough to have 
settled that question. Nor is it in the least degree probable that 
Bunyan would ever, out of the prison, have begun the Pilgrims 
Progress. The pleasantness and refreshing sweetness of its compo- 
sition to his own soul was among the comforts wherewith he was 
comforted of Christ amidst the sufferings of his imprisonment. 
The Grace of God Abounding, reviewed in Bunyan's Den, was a 
discipline preparatory for it ; the leisure of the Den committed him 
to it ; the straitness of the Den, compelling his imagination into 
exercise, quickened and increased the ministrations of its beauty; 
and the very darkness and loneliness of the Den at times helped 
him onward in it ; and he was like Milton in his blindness, with the 
sublimities of the Paradise Lost thrown upon his inward sight. In 
open day, among the pursuits of life and the absorbing duties of his 
ministry, Bunyan's mind would not have been likely to have paused 
upon the imagery of the Pilgrims Progress, even if it had passed 
before him. 

The Heavenly Footman is perhaps as likely as any of Bunyan's 
works to have been the one to which he refers when he says, 

' ' I, writing of the way 
And race of saints, in this our gospel clay, 
Fell suddenly into an allegory 
About their journey, and the way to glory." 

That work was written after the Sighs from Hell, and also after his 
work on the Two Covenants, to each of which books he makes a 
reference in the Heavenly Footman; but it was not published at all in 
Bunyan's lifetime. We think it very likely, that the tide of thoughts 
and fancies coming fast upon him, made him defer the completion of 
the Heavenly Footman till the Pilgrims Progress was both finished 
and printed ; and the only reason why Bunyan did not name the 
work in which he was engaged, when he was carried away by main 
force of a heart and mind on fire into the track of his Pilgrim, was 
because, when he wrote his poetical preface, that work, the Heavenly 
Footman, was still unfinished and in manuscript. 

It is very clear that, of all his works, the Pilgrim's Progress was 
that into which the Divine providence and grace carried him the 
most unexpectedly. It was as if, while pursuing the subject of his 
own choice, a winged angel had beckoned him away into the path of 
God's choice, without any will of his own, as on a child's excursion, 
and had there left him to his own fancies. So this work of the 
Pilgrims Progress was that in which, though the greatest of his 
works, he had the least of a local or definite purpose in composing 



AUTHOE OF THE PILGEIM'S PROGRESS, lix 

it. He did not write it to please others ; lie did not write it for 
publication ; nay, when he began he did not dream of publishing ; 
he wrote it as the spontaneous impulse of genius and piety, to which 
he gave way simply to gratify himself, yielding to the delight of his 
own mind in the work of Iris imagination. 

Nor did he labour at it at any time; but it was a work of the 
greatest freedom and happiness ; a work to which he gave his vacant 
seasons only ; a work truly of heavenly amusement to his soul, and 
of recreation from other things, which were his task-work. Neither 
did he, thus scribbling merely at vacant seasons and out of pure 
delight, accomplish his work hastily, or all at once ; it was not till 
after writing at intervals for some time, without any method, think- 
ing to make he knew not what, that at length he had his method by 
the end. The twenty things that first came suddenly into his head 
he set down, and then twenty more, and so on as fast as they multi- 
plied, putting them by themselves. Thus the whole work may have 
been years in the process of composition ; although each time that 
he set pen to paper he quickly had his thoughts in black and white ; 
and so he went on, 

" Until at last it came to be, 
For length and breadth, the bigness which yon see." 

Thus much we may certainly gather from his own account con- 
cerning the progress of this remarkable work of genius. And it was 
not until he had put his ends thus together, and completed both the 
ideal and the form of his work, that he either disclosed the imagina- 
tion of it, or showed a leaf of it, to a single breathing mortal. Then 
only arose the question, How will it strike others ? Shall it be pub- 
lished ? Will it do good ? Will men be benefited by this unusual 
mode of setting forth Divine truth? Will it be condemned or 
justified ? And after all, though the precious manuscript went from 
hand to hand, from judge to judge, among Bunyan's most esteemed 
and clearest friends and brethren, such was the diversity of opinion 
respecting it, some saying, Print it, John, some saying, No, that he 
had to decide irrespective of men's judgment, and in a strait to the 
last moment, what was the best thing to be done. 

There never was such a history of any human work of genius. 
There never was such an absence of all motive, manward, of all 
regard to human applause, of all mere human purpose. This almost 
exclusive prevalence of Divine providence and grace in the impulse 
and guidance of Bunyan's genius, and this retirement of the mere 
human will from its sanctuary, is a marvellous and beautiful thing. 
It makes the Pilgrims Progress stand nearer to the pages of a Divine 
inspiration than any other book. Unconsciously on the part of 



lx INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

Bunyan, God had been disciplining and preparing him, through 
years of heavenly conflict and study of the Word, for this work ; 
unconsciously God set him to the composition of it ; unconsciously 
God carried him to the completion of it. 

He describes himself, at the end of twelve complete years of his 
imprisonment, as still lying in jail, " waiting to see what God would 
suffer these men to do with him." In truth, the Pilgrim's Progress 
answers this question. And in the very next sentence Bunyan goes 
on describing his situation and experience in prison : " In which con- 
dition I have continued with much content through grace, but have 
met with many turnings and goings upon my heart, both from the 
Lord, Satan, and my own corruptions ; by all which, glory be to 
Jesus Christ, I have also received, among many tilings, much con- 
viction, instruction, and understanding. / never had in all my life 
so great an inlet into the Word of God as now. Those Scriptures 
that I saw nothing in before are made in this place and state to shine 
upon me. Jesus Christ also was never more real and apparent than 
now ; here I have seen and felt Him indeed." 

He then mentions some of the passages of Scripture that have 
been great refreshments to him in this his imprisoned condition : 
" So that sometimes," says he, " when I have been in the savour of 
them, I have been able to laugh at destruction, and to fear neither 
the horse nor his rider. I have had sweet sights of the forgiveness 
of my sins in this place, and of my being with Jesus in another 
world. Oh, the Mount Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem, the innumer- 
able company of angels, and God the judge of all, and the spirits of 
just men made perfect, and Jesus, have been sweet unto me in this 
place ! I have seen that here which I am persuaded I shall never, 
while in this world, be able to express. I have seen a truth in this 
Scripture, ' Whom having not seen, ye love ; in whom, though now 
ye see Him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and 
full of glory.' 

" I never knew what it was for God to stand by me at all turns, 
and at every offer of Satan to afflict me, as I have found Him since 
I came in hither ; for, look how fears have presented themselves, so 
have supports and encouragements ; yea, when I have started, even 
as it were at nothing else but my shadow, yet God, as being very 
tender of me, hath not suffered me to be molested, but would, with 
one Scripture or another, strengthen me against all, insomuch that I 
have often said, Were it lawful, I could pray for greater trouble, for 
the greater comfort's sake." 

Before Bunyan was arrested in his ministry and taken to prison, 
he foresaw what was coming, as indeed Baxter, and other good men 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



lxi 



with him, must have clone ; and, by the grace and discipline of God, 
he was prepared for it. By the space of as much as a year before his 
imprisonment he was looking forward both to prison and to death ; 
and, almost every time he went to prayer, was led to plead with God, 
in the words of Paul, "that he might be strengthened with all might, 
according to His glorious power, unto all patience and long-suffering 
with joy fulness.'''' The petition thus impressed upon his soul, and 
ministered in prayer to God by that Holy Spirit who maketh interces- 
sion for His people according to His will, was marvellously answered. 
Bunyan was lead beforehand " to x^ass a sentence of death upon every 
thing that can properly be called a tiling of this life, and to look not 
at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen." 

But notwithstanding all these helps, he found himself a man en- 
compassed with infirmities. The thoughts of parting with his wife 
and poor children, and the remembrance of the many hardships, 
miseries, and wants that his poor family must meet with, but, above 
all, his poor blind child, who lay nearer his heart than all he had 
besides, were agonising to him. This record of his feelings is 
deeply affecting : " Poor child, thought I, what sorrow art thou like 
to have for thy portion in this world ! Thou must be beaten, must 
beg, suffer hunger, cold, nakedness, and a thousand calamities, 
though I cannot now endure the wind should blow upon thee. But 
yet, recalling myself, thought I, I must venture you all with God, 
though it goeth to the quick to leave you. Oh, I saw in this condi- 
tion I was as a man who was pulling down Ms house upon the head 
of his wife and children ; yet, thought I, I must do it, I must do it. 
And now I thought on those two milch kine that were to carry the 
ark of God into another country, to leave their calves behind them." 

Here, as ever, the promises of God sustained him; for although 
it was the habit of his sensitive mind, 

in the prospect of temptation and of A\- ; / 

evil, to look upon the darkest side, 

and the habit of his vivid and power- -^ ' . _,,,. 

ful imagination to array the possible ^ ^fj* 

coming calamities in their most ter- 
rific aspect, — by which things Satan 
seemed to gain an advantage in his 
assaults upon his soul, — yet over all 
this the grace of God was triumphant, 
and out of all the Lord delivered him, 
being much better to him than his 
fears. The company of his poor dear 
blind child was a sweet consolation 




Ixii INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

to him in the prison, while, with her by his side, he worked at the 
tagged laces which were his only means of contributing to the 
support of his family. 

The last recorded onset of Satan upon liirn, and the final triumph 
of his soul by grace, when, as it would seem, the Tempter left him, 
not only for a season, foiled and disappointed, but for ever, must be 
given in his own words, for it was, in some respects, the most re- 
markable and important crisis in his Christian pilgrimage. It was 
a struggle and a conflict issuing in the clearest light, and never after- 
wards, that we are aware of, renewed. It was early in the time of 
his imprisonment, and coming after so much refreshment and strength 
as he had received from the promises and grace of God, to bear him up 
in entering upon that long-anticipated trial, Bunyan marvelled at it. 
Besides, it continued for many weeks, and all the visions of heavenly 
things were veiled in his soul, and it was as if he had been transported 
by Diabolus to the scurf of Hell-gate Hill, and there for weeks had 
been made to hear the ringing of Dead-man's Bell among the dark 
mountains. Yea, it was like the beating and roaring of Hell-drum 
before the town of Mansoul. 

And thus Bunyan introduces it : "I must tell you," says he, " a 
pretty business. I was once above all the rest in a very sad and low 
condition for many weeks ; at which time also, I being but a young 
prisoner, and not acquainted with the laws, had this lain much upon 
my spirit, that my imprisonment might end at the gallows, for aught 
that I could tell. Now, therefore, Satan laid hard at me, to beat me 
out of heart, by suggesting thus unto me : But how if, when you 
come indeed to die, you should be in this condition, that is, not to 
savour the things of God, nor to have any evidence upon your soul 
of a better state hereafter ? for indeed at that time all the things of 
God were hid from my soul. 

" Wherefore, when I at first began to think of this, it was a great 
trouble to me ; for I thought with myself that, in the condition I now 
was, I was not fit to die, neither, indeed, did think I could, if I should 
be called to it. Besides, I thought with myself, if I should make a 
scrambling shift to clamber up the ladder, yet I should, either with 
quaking, or other symptoms of fainting, give occasion to the enemy 
to reproach the way of God and His people for their timorousness. 
This, therefore, lay with great trouble upon me ; for methought I was 
ashamed to die with a pale face and tottering knees in such a cause 
as this. 

" Wherefore I prayed to God that He would comfort me, and give 
strength to do and suffer what He should call me to. Yet no comfort 
appeared, but all continued hid. I was also at this time so really 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. lxiii 

possessed with the thought of death, that oft I was as if on a ladder 
with a rope about my neck. Only this was some encouragement to 
me, I thought I might now have an opportunity to speak my last 
words unto a multitude which I thought would come to see me die , 
and, thought I, if it must be so, if God will but convert one soul by 
my last words, I shall not count my life thrown away nor lost. 

" But yet all the things of God were kept out of my sight, and still 
the Tempter followed me, saying, But whither must you go when you 
die ? What will become of you ? Where will you be found in another 
world ? What evidence have you for heaven and glory, and an in- 
heritance among them that are sanctified ? Thus was I tossed for 
many weeks, and knew not what to do, till at last this consideration 
fell with weight upon me, that it was for the Word and way of God 
that I was in this condition ; wherefore I was engaged not to flinch 
an hair's breadth from it. 

" I thought also that God might choose whether He woidd give me 
comfort now, or at the hour of death; but I might not therefore choose 
whether I would hold my profession or no. I was bound, but He was 
free ; yea, it was my duty to stand to His Word, whether He would 
ever look upon me, or save me at the last or not ; wherefore, thought 
I, the point being thus, I am for going on, and venturing my eternal 
state with Christ, whether I have comfort here or no. If God doth 
not come in, thought I, I will leap off the ladder even blindfold into 
eternity, sink or swim, come heaven, come hell. Lord Jesus, if Thou 
wilt catch me, do ; if not, I will venture for Thy name." 

We doubt if, in the whole range of religious biography, there is to be 
found such a trial and triumph as this. The gold is here in the hottest 
crucible, and the Great Refiner is bending over it and watching the 
process, and His own image, His own face reflected, shines in it, clear, 
bright, not to be mistaken ! How beautiful His love, how glorious 
His work of grace in Bunyan ! What disinterestedness of motive, 
what self-renouncing faith, what entire consecration to Christ ! Bun- 
yan's language is not merely, " Though He slay me, yet will I trust in 
Him," but, " Though He cast me off, yet will I venture for His name ! " 

And then how beautiful, how impressive, how bright with the seal 
of the Divine Spirit in the heart, that breathing of duty and of love 
after God, " it was my duty to stand to His Word, whether He would 
ever look upon me, or save me at the last or not." It was no wonder 
that, after witnessing the result of this trial, Bunyan's spiritual foes 
fled from him in despair, and the angels of the promises came and 
ministered unto him. " I would not have been without this trial for 
much," said he; "I am comforted every time I think of it, and I 
hope I shall bless God for ever for the teaching I have had by it." 




Jail on the Bridge at Bedford. 

And now was Bunyan hidden in God's pavilion, and left alone with 
God. Now he was at leisure for just as much of divine meditation 
as a heart filled with the Spirit would thirst after. Now he could say. 
My feet stand upon Mount Zion. My body, indeed, is in prison, but 
my mind is free to study Christ, and the unsearchable riches of His 
infinite, everlasting love. Mine enemies may draw then' bolts and 
bars around me, but by faith I rise above them, and soar beyond the 
stars ; they cannot fetter the wings of faith and hope ; they cannot 
bind me from my God. And blessed be God that I have here this 
remembrance, that, when I was out of prison, my work was to preach 
Christ and to save souls ; which memory shall be a comfort to me 
till I die. And here, from the walls of our prison, as from one of 
God's watch-towers, I and my companions in the kingdom and 
patience of Jesus Christ, for the Word of God and for the testimony 
of Jesus, can see afar off into the land of glory. For the baseness 
of this state cannot hide God's face from us, but He carries us, as on 
eagle's wings, into the truth and life of heaven. 

" We change our drossy dust for gold, 
From death to life we fly ; 
We let go shadows, and take hold 
Of Immortality." 



I 



INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. lxv 

Such was the tenour of Bunyan's prison meditations. We have 
reason to believe that the twelve long years of his imprisonment 
were, on the whole, the happiest period of his life. It was not 
because the prison itself was not gloomy, damp, and dreary. What 
prison built in the fifteenth or sixteenth century, and made the 
instrument of Church-and- State tyranny, ever was otherwise? But 
this prison of Bunyan, Mr. Philip, in his Life and Times, happily 
reminds us, was the old jail on Bedford bridge, the very prison 
whose dreary state awoke the energies of Howard to his mission of 
benevolence ; and very likely it was the extreme dampness of its 
cells that suggested that strong and graphic image to Bunyan's mind 
which we have already quoted, when he said that, rather than come 
out of jail by violating his faith and principles, in obeying men rather 
than God, he would stay there, if frail life could continue so long, 
till the moss should grow upon his eyebrows ! 

It was not for want of the circumstances of gloom and suffering 
that Bunyan's prison years were so happy to him and so glorious for 
the world ; nay, if he had remained in those circumstances a little 
longer, doubtless life would have given way under the pressure of 
evil ; but it was because of the abundant ministration of the won- 
drous love of God ; it was because, by the revelations of Christ to 
his soul, as the sufferings of Christ abounded in him, so his consola- 
tion also abounded by Christ. That is a great text realised in Bunyan, 
concerning the God of all comfort, " Who comforteth us in all our 
tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any 
trouble by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.'' 
So was Bunyan comforted. In all his life he never had such a period 
of continued, and sometimes ecstatic, revelations and experiences of 
light, peace, and joy. In many respects it was, almost all the way, 
as the Land Beulah, beyond the Valley of the Shadow of Death, out 
of the reach of Giant Despair, Doubting Castle not so much as to 
be seen, the sun shining night and day, the air sweet and pleasant, 
continually the birds singing, every day the flowers blooming. The 
existence of such a period of spiritual enjoyment might have been 
surely inferred from the nature of the works known to have been the 
fruit of Bunyan's imprisonment ; the Pilgrim's Progress itself could 
have come only from a serenity and sweetness of religious experience, 
shining, with the play of celestial rainbows intermingled, like an 
evening sunset after a storm. And so Bunyan says, in Ms own 
rugged and homely but expressive verses : — 

" The prison very sweet to me 
Hath been since I came here ; 
And so would also hanging be, 
If God would there appear. 



lxvi INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

Here dwells good conscience, also peace, 

Here be my garments white : 
Here, though in bonds, I have release 

From guilt, which else would bite." 

But with all this he had ever an intermingling of many turnings 
and goings upon his heart from Satan and his own corruptions, — 
those seven abominations that he speaks of, beginning with unbelief ; 
the Diabolonians that would still dwell in the town of Mansoul, — by 
which things he was continually humbled. It was still, as of old, 
his every day's portion " to be let into the evil of my own heart, and 
still made to see such a multitude of corruptions and infirmities 
therein, that it hath caused hanging down of the head under all my 
gifts and attainments." 

While Bunyan was thus suffering for Christ, yet enjoying Christ's 
presence, and writing from the fulness of His love in prison, a great 
multitude of his Nonconformist brethren were passing through the 
fires without. It was a period of peril, persecution, and great tribula- 
tion for such as kept an independent conscience and were faithful to 
God's Word. The Act of Uniformity being passed the 13th of May, 
1662, all ministers were ejected from their livings, and silenced, who 
would not conform to the established hierarchy, who would not 
declare then* unfeigned assent and consent to all and everything 
contained and prescribed in and by the Book of Common Prayer, 
administration of the sacraments, and other rites and ceremonies of 
the Church. Manton, Owen, Bates, Calamy, Howe, and Baxter, 
were among the number of those who, in this grand struggle for 
principle, liberty, and the honour of Christ, as Mr. Orme most justly 
describes it, would not submit to the decrees of an ecclesiastical 
despotism, nor, in the sacred matter of prayer and supreme obedience 
to Christ, be subject to ordinances after the commandments and doc- 
trines of men. They obeyed the inspired injunction, and, at whatever 
cost, stood fast in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free. 

And a costly thing indeed it was, a liberty maintained in the endur- 
ance of intolerable severities, for which maintenance and endurance 
we owe a debt of gratitude to those confessors for Christ, and to the 
great Head of the Church for inspiring and sustaining them, which we 
cannot measure. The freedom which we now enjoy could never have 
been gained until such a race of Christians should have passed through 
such fires; and if it had not been them, it must have been us on 
whom the weight of ecclesiastical tyranny, and the duty and the cost 
of resisting it, must have fallen. The nonconforming ministers were 
pursued with the sharpest animosity and jealousy. " As we were 
forbidden to preach," says Baxter, " so we were vigilantly watched in 
private, that we might not exhort one another or pray together ; and 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. lxvii 

as I foretold them oft how they would use us when they had silenced 
us, every meeting for prayer was called a dangerous meeting for 
sedition, or a conventicle at least." And -so, as in the days of 
Nebuchadnezzar, men were consigned to prison for merely praying 
to God without the State Liturgy. And this is that to which Bunyan 
himself refers in his Discourse on Prayer, when he says, with a 
severity unwonted for him, yet perfectly justified by the truth, " Look 
into the jails in England, and into the alehouses of the same, and I 
trow you will find those that plead for the spirit of prayer in the jail, 
and them that look only after the form of men's inventions in the 
alehouse. It is evident also by the silencing of God's dear ministers, 
though never so powerfully enabled by the Spirit of Prayer, if they 
in conscience cannot admit of that form of Common Prayer. If 
this be not exalting the Common Prayer Book above either praying 
by the Spirit or preaching the Word, I have taken my mark amiss. 
It is not pleasant for me to dwell on this ; the Lord in mercy turn 
the hearts of the people to seek more after the Spirit of Prayer, and 
in the strength of that to pour out their souls before the Lord." 

Such a passage as this ought not to be omitted from Bunyan's bio- 
graphy, for it was an appeal from the prison to the truth, which no 
man could deny ; it shews the habitual direction and strength of 
those religious feelings and conscientious views which led Bunyan 
and others to endure what they did, and to make what protestations 
they could against the violent imposition of men's forms in God's 
worship. 

When the work of the Act of Uniformity in May, followed by the 
ministration of Bartholomew's-Day in August, ejecting and silencing 
the nonconforming preachers of God's Word, had been effectually 
accomplished in 1G62, then, on the last day of June 1663, the bill 
against private meetings for religious exercises passed the House of 
Commons, and shortly was made a law. We take the notice of this 
great tyranny from the unexceptionable testimony of Baxter. " The 
sum of it was," says he, " that every person above sixteen years old, 
who should be present at any meeting under colour or pretence of 
any exercise of religion, in other manner than is allowed by the 
Liturgy or practice of the Church of England, where there are five 
persons more than the household, shall, for the first offence, by a 
justice of peace, be recorded and sent to jail three months, till he 
pay five pounds ; and for the second offence six months, till he pay 
ten pounds ; and the third time, being convicted by a jury, shall 
be banished to some of the American Plantations, excepting New , 
England or Virginia. The calamity of the act, beside the main 
matter, was, that it was made so ambiguous that no man that ever I 



Ixviii INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

met with could tell what was a violation of it, and what not ; not 
knowing what was allowed by the Liturgy of the Church of England 
in families, because the Liturgy meddleth not with families ; and 
among the diversity of family practice no man knoweth what to call 
the practice of the Church ...... But when it came to the trial, 

these pleas with the justices were vain ; for if men did but pray, it 
was taken for granted that it was an exercise not allowed by the 
Church of England, and to jail they went." 

This was the machinery set in motion, after their teachers had 
been silenced, to beat down the people. "And now," continues 
Baxter, " came the people's trial as well as the ministers'. While 
the dangers and sufferings lay on the ministers alone, the people were 
very courageous, and exhorted them to stand it out, and preach till 
they went to prison. But when it came to be their own case, they 
were venturous till they were once surprised and imprisoned ; but 
then their judgments were much altered, and they that censured 
ministers before as cowardly, because they preached not publicly, 
whatever followed, did now think that it was better to preach often 
in secret to a few, than but once or twice in public to many ; and 
that secresy was no sin when it tended to the furtherance of the work 
of the Gospel and to the Church's good. The rich especially were 
as cautious as the ministers. But yet their meetings were so ordinary 
and so well known, that it greatly tended to the jailer's commodity. 

"The people were in a great strait, those especially who dwelt 
near any busy officer or malicious enemy. Many durst not pray in 
their families, if above four persons came in to dine with them. In a 
gentleman's house where it was ordinary for more than four visitors, 
neighbours, messengers, or one sort or other, to be most so many 
days at dinner with them, many durst not then go to prayer, and some 
scarcely durst crave a blessing on their meat, or give God thanks for 
it. Some thought they might venture if they withdrew into another 
room, and left the strangers to themselves ; but others said, it is all 
one if they be in the same house, though out of hearing, when it 
cometh to the judgment of the justices. In London, where the houses 
are contiguous, some thought if they were in several houses, and 
heard one another through the hall or a window, it would avoid the 
law ; but others said it is all in vain whilst the justice is judge, 
whether it was a meeting or no. Great lawyers said, if you come on 
a visit or business, though you be present at prayer or sermon, it is 
no breach of the law, because you met not on pretence of a religious 
exercise ; but those that tried them said that such words are but 
wind when the justices come to judge you." 

What a picture of infamy and cruelty is this ! What a vast, pene- 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. lxix 

trating, powerful arrangement, to make cowards, slaves, and hypo- 
crites of a whole people ! Immortal beings compelled to hide them- 
selves from man's sight and hearing, in order even to say grace ! We 
behold the all-pervading power and anguish of the subtle elements of 
a hierarchical and spiritual despotism, energised with the supremacy 
of state law, and carried to the uttermost extent by a willing and 
obedient magistracy. The authors and upholders of it would arm 
that despotism, if they could, with the omniscience and omnipotence 
of God. It is as if we saw the lice and frogs of Egypt coming up 
into the people's houses, covering their daily bread, and infesting and 
poisoning the sources of life and activity. 

In this state of tilings the Quakers in the kingdom threw them- 
selves, with a most determined and noble spirit of freedom and endu- 
rance, into the breach. Their example was wonderful. Baxter records 
it in a simple and striking manner, and the bare record is enough to 
stamp the system under which they suffered as of the most atrocious 
wickedness and cruelty. " And here," says he, " the Quakers did 
greatly relieve the sober people for a time ; for they were so resolute, 
and so gloried in their constancy and sufferings, that they assembled 
openly at the Bull and Mouth, near Aldersgate, and were dragged away 
daily to the common jail, and yet desisted not, but the rest came the 
next day, nevertheless, so that the jail at Newgate was filled with 
them. Abundance of them died in prison, and yet they continued 
their assemblies still. They would sometimes meet only to sit still 
in silence, when, as they said, the Spirit did not move them ; and it 
was a great question whether this silence was a religious exercise not 
allowed by the Liturgy." 

So these barbarities went on, practised by a Church called Chris- 
tian ; but, as the excellent Dr. Scott once observed, these cruelties 
are the iniquity of Paganism, which Christian doctrine not only 
cannot sanctify for its own pretended support, but ten thousandfold 
condemns. Mr. OfFor has gathered a striking summary of these 
frightful ferocities, and refers to the memorial presented to the King 
and Council at Whitehall in behalf of the persecuted Quakers, in 
proof that " such was the thronged state of the prisons, that in 
some cases they were crowded into so small a space, that some had 
to stand while the others laid down. Many were taken out dead." 
Upwards of eight thousand suffered imprisonment, and hundreds 
died. As to the number of Nonconformists, or Dissenters of all 
sects, who suffered or died, it cannot be told ; but it is stated that 
eight thousand died in prison under Charles II. 

Bunyan himself must have died, if he had been thrown into one 
of these crowded prisons, and consigned to the brutality of an 




lxx INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

inhuman jailer, to say nothing of the impossi- 
bility of writing any such work as the Pilgrims 
Progress under such circumstances. These things, 
therefore, present in a more impressive shape the 
providence of God in suffering Bunyan to be so 
early arrested, and lodged safely in a prison where 
the keepers were friendly to him, to pursue Ms 
quiet work, hidden as in a pavilion from the strife 
of tongues. His first jailer was so kind to him, that for a season he 
perilled Ins own situation by permitting him to visit his family, and 
even to go up to London. No freedom of this nature, however, seems 
to have been granted for several years after the year 1662 ; and per- 
haps, for the production of his works, it was better so than otherwise. 
Meantime, multitudes were tossed up and down from dwelling to 
dwelling, having no resting-place nor refuge ; and Baxter himself, 
after many trials, was thrown into jail in the year 1669. In the 
year 1670, the Act against Conventicles was renewed with increased 
severity, and enforced with the utmost rigour. Dr. Manton was 
sent to prison for preaching in his own house. The revived Act 
and its applications overtopped in cruelty and inhumanity all that 
went before it ; though, in some respects, the Five Mile Act in the 
midst of the Plague in 1665 was a greater enormity, as enacted in 
contempt of all the demonstrated spiritual wants of the people, and 
all the teachings of God's terrible judgments. 

After this career of bigotry and cruelty on the part of Church and 
State had been pursued to such an extent that it seemed as if the 
khigdom were given up of God to Moloch, there came forth most 
unexpectedly in 1672 a royal Declaration, dispensing with the penal 
laws against Nonconformists. Whether the object of this measure 
on the part of the King was to provide a shield, under which relief 
might be extended to the Roman Catholics, or the accomplishment 
of some other policy not named, the acknowledgment with which 
the Declaration opens is most memorable. After speaking of " those 
many and frequent ways of coercion " to reduce Dissenters to obedience, 
by which the King had proved his passionate love to the Established 
Church, he says, " It is evident, by the sad experience of twelve years, 
that there is very little fruit of all those forceable courses." Yes, 
indeed ! that is not the way to root out even an absolute heresy, much 
less to beat down or destroy God's truth. When God chooses hearts 
to plant it in, neither fires, nor fines, nor dungeons, can burn it out, 
nor repress it, nor shut it up. Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is. 
liberty, let men do what they will to crush it. Very little fruit indeed 
that way, from those twelve years' ( ' forceable courses" of the hierarchy. 1 



AUTHOE OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. lxxi 

But tlie King little knew what fruit God Himself would bring 
out of them ; little knew that He had permitted them, just to compel 
the wrath of man to praise Him. They began with Bunyan's im- 
prisonment, those specified twelve years of hierarchical experiment , 
they ended with Bunyan's release ; and the one great event in the 
kingdom during that period, though then utterly unknown to any 
mortal in it, save John Bunyan, and perhaps two or three obscure 
fellow-prisoners, had been the writing of the Pilgrim's Progress ; 
an event brought about through the instrumentality of those twelve 
years' cruelties ! 

The King's Declaration was dated the 15th March, 1G72. By the 
8th of May, the returns which had been commanded concerning the 
prisoners in the kingdom that were to be released were before the 
Privy Council, and the names of a large number were inserted in a 
general pardon. From Mr. OfFor's valuable researches we learn 
that by the indefatigable exertions of the benevolent George White- 
head on the part of the Society of Friends, a special warrant was 
obtained from the King to the Attorney-General for the pardon of 
the Quakers, other Dissenters being included, and Bunyan among 
them. Whitehead beautifully says, " Our being of different judg- 
ments did not abate my compassion or charity, even towards those 
who had been my opposers in some cases. Blessed be the Lord my 
God, who is the Father and Fountain of mercies, whose love and 
mercies in Christ Jesus to us should oblige us to be merciful and 
kind one to another, we being required to love mercy as well as to 
do justly, and to walk humbly with the Lord our God." 

The interest and importance of this movement are such, that it 
deserves, even in our present brief sketch, a more minute history. 
The royal Declaration, we have said, was dated the 15th of March. 
Before the 29th, it appears that Whitehead and others had petitioned 
the King in behalf of the Quakers especially ; for at a meeting of 
the Privy Council in the King's presence, on the 29th, an order was 
given to the sheriffs, on the ground of that request, for returns to be 
made forthwith of the names " of all such persons called Quakers 
remaining in any jail or prison." On the 3rd clay of May, the returns 
having been made, were delivered into the hands of the Lord Keeper, 
Sir Orlando Bridgman, for his opinion as to the various grounds of 
imprisonment in the several cases. This being given, it was ordered 
in Privy Council, on the 8th of May, that a list of names, with the 
causes of commitment, should be sent to the Attorney- General, who 
was required and authorized to prepare a bill for his majesty's royal 
signature, containing a pardon, to pass the great seal of England, for 
all such to whom his majesty might legally grant the same. 



lxxii INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OP THE 

Meanwhile Bunyan and Ms fellow-prisoners had sent in a peti- 
tion to Ms majesty from the Bedford jail, following the advice and 
example of WMtehead on behalf of the Quakers. TMs petition 
was received and . read in Council on the same 8th day of May, 
before the order taken for the release of the Quakers. Its reading 
was recorded as, " the humble petition of John Fenn, John Bunyan, 
John Dunn, Thomas Haynes, Simon Haynes, and George Farr, 
prisoners in the jail of Bedford, and James Rogers, prisoner in the 
Castle of Cambridge, for being at conventicles and Nonconformity." 
The petition was ordered to be referred to the sheriffs, to examine 
and certify forthwith whether the prisoners were in custody for 
those offences mentioned, or for any other crimes. 

Then at a meeting of the Privy Council on the 17th of May, the 
sheriffs having returned answer that the said persons were com- 
mitted for the said crimes " of being at conventicles and Noncon- 
formity," and for none other, it was ordered by his majesty that the 
petition and certificate should be sent to the Attorney- General, who 
was required and authorized to insert the names therein contained, 
of Bunyan and others, into the general pardon to be passed for the 
Quakers. 

Some tMee weeks after this, in the month of June, the King's 
warrant for the pardon was issued to the Attorney- General, with 
the names of 471 prisoners, at that time ordered to be inserted, " of 
Quakers and others." This number was increased by different 
orders in Council to 491, when the letters of pardon were made 
patent. But meanwMle it was found that the fees for each person 
mentioned in the pardon would amount, in the different offices 
through which it had to pass, to the sum of twenty or thirty pounds 
sterling. This the poor prisoners were utterly unable to pay ; and 
it would have to run up, in the aggregate, to some twelve thousand 
pounds. Thereupon, Whitehead is said to have again petitioned 
the King ; and Ms majesty was pleased to command, on the same 
day on which the pardon was completed and issued, that is, on the 
13th of September, 1672, that the pardon, though comprehending 
great numbers of persons, should yet pass the respective officers and 
sealers as one pardon, and pay but as one. 

Thus at length the matter was completed, and Bunyan was re- 
leased. The delaj^s in carrying the instrument of pardon into 
execution could not have been great. The kind efforts of White- 
head and his friends the Quakers were earnest and persevering. 
Nothing was left undone that could be done; and the whole ex- 
penses that remained, of getting and serving the royal patent for the 
pardon, were borne by these excellent persons. The alleged inter- 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. lxxiii 

cession of Dr. Barlow on Bunyan's behalf must have been made 
before these movements, if there be any truth whatever in the 
statement of such interposition. It is very clear that after the 
royal Declaration of the 15th of March, and the petitions of White- 
head and of Bunyan himself, no other intervention was necessary. 
Before that time it would not have been available, or certainly was 
not, even if made. After the pardon had been completed through so 
many orders in Council, and the great seal attached to it, there was 
nothing requisite but to pay the fees and have it served upon the 
justices; and we are at a loss to conceive what intercession, in 
Bunyan's case especially, could have been called for, since the 
justice or sheriff would not have dared to disobey the King's com- 
mand, and the jailer of the Bedford prison was Bunyan's friend. 

Meanwhile, towards the close of the year 1671, Bunyan had been 
chosen and ordained by the church in Bedford, of which he was a 
member, to the office of elder or co -pastor. He must have had 
extraordinary privileges granted him by his jailer, for Mr. Philip 
assures us that his name appears in the minutes of the church 
meetings in 1069, 1670, and 1671, and that in 1670 he was present 
at every church meeting in the year. In 1672 he published The 
Confession of my Faith and Reason of my Practice, the preface to 
which work shews evidently that, whatever kindnesses or relaxa- 
tions of severity may have lightened the evil of his imprisonment, 
it was still very grievous to be borne ; while at the same time he 
was resolved never to come out of it but as he had entered, with the 
determination and the freedom, if out of the prison to-day, to preach 
the Gospel to-morrow, by the help of God. 

It was the 9th day of May, 1672, only the day after Bunyan's 
petition for release had been received, read, and first acted on in the 
Privy Council, that he was, in the name of the King, licensed to 
preach in the house of Mr. Rufhead, in Bedford, in the following 
terms: "We do hereby permit and license John Bunyan to be a 
teacher of the congregation allowed by us in the house of Josias 
Roughed, Bedford, for the use of such as do not conform to the 
Church of England, who are of the persuasion commonly called 
Congregational." Mr. Rufhead was one of Bunyan's devoted 
friends, who had had his house broken open and rifled in 1670, 
or near that time, during the persecution after the revival of the 
Act against conventicles. His house was the first place of worship 
licensed in Bedford, if not the first in the kingdom, for the use of 
the Nonconformists. Mr. Offor has printed, as it was originally 
registered, the form of the royal sanction, dated the same 9th day of 
May, and has noted the memorable fact that Bunyan's licensure was 



lxxiv 



INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 



" the first permission to preach given to any Dissenter from the 
established sect in this country." To this we may add the record given 
by Mr. Ivimey from the Church-book, as follows : " August, 1672. 
The ground on winch the meeting-house stands was bought by sub- 
scription." It was purchased for the erection of a new and capacious 
chapel, which was shortly built, and crowded with hearers. 

The le- _____ er in the 

galisedap- |JJ?'. WS^^^^^^ti same ' so 

soon after 
the royal 
Declara- 



pointment 
of this Mr. 
Rufheacl's 
house for 
Bunyan's 
preaching, 
as well as 
the autho- 
rising of 
Bunyan 
as teach - 




tion, is in- 
deed a re- 
markable 
incident ; 
for he had 
not been 
even re- 
leased yet 



from prison, and his petition for such release was just undergoing the 
first action of the Privy Council, in the forms necessary for its accom- 
plishment. The King is seen, while Bunyan is yet a prisoner, and 
known to be such, in Bedford jail, allowing and appointing the house 
of Josias Rufhead, in Bedford, for Bunyan's church to meet in ; and 
by another instrument, the same day, permitting and licensing John 
Bunyan to be then teacher, and to preach in the said house. It is a 
singular thing, and furthermore, it must have been known all the 
while, that Bunyan already, though in prison, was in the habit of 
meeting with his church uninterruptedly. The same powerful in- 
fluence was evidently working in his favour, whatever that might be, 
which had at first prompted the royal Declaration in behalf of the 
Nonconformists ; but the fact of the King's licensure of Bunyan as 
a nonconforming minister shows clearly that the whole story of Dr. 
Barlow's interfering for his release upon a cautionary bond, promis- 
ing his conformity in six months, must be a sheer fabrication. He 
came into prison as a preacher of the Gospel, and as such he went 
out ; he came in for preaching, and he went out to preach. From 
November, 1660, the time of his original arrest, to September, 1672, 
the month of the warrant for his release, it was twelve full years, 
wanting two months ; and he came out as he went in, in fulfilment 
of his noble saying to the judges, "If I were out of the prison 
to-day, I would preach the Gospel to-morrow, by the help of God." 
From tins time forward, though he was now only forty-four years 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. IxXy 

of age, and had yet sixteen more years of his mortal pilgrimage before 
him through times of great danger, tyranny, and trial, Bunyan's 
career was for the most part a series of serene and successful Chris- 
tian labours in the ministry and through the press. They were 
remarkably uninterrupted : for God carried him on, growing in 
wisdom and holiness, humble and uninjured, amidst the admiration 
of friends and the respect of enemies, who for the greater part of 
the time were " as still as a stone." Nevertheless, in the year 1678 
a most extraordinary and incredible assault was made upon his good 
name in connexion with that of a young woman called Agnes 
Beaumont, a member of Bunyan's church in Bedford, and a person 
of very uncommon piety. The charge was nothing less than that 
of murdering her own father, at Bunyan's instigation, in order to 
obtain his property! 

The hatching of this truly devilish conspiracy seems to have been 
between a clergyman and lawyer of the times, out of pure revenge 
and malice, both against Bunyan and the young woman, who, 
perhaps aided by the kind advice and foresight of her pastor, had 
refused to become the lawyer's wife. The young woman herself 
wrote a narrative of these things, which has been published and 
republished, and is a most remarkable document, inferior in some 
respects only to Bunyan's own Grace Abounding. A large portion 
of it is given by Mr. Philip, in his Life and Times of Bunyan, in 
the chapter on Bunyan's calumniators ; and it constitutes one of the 
most valuable portions of that interesting work. The calumny (as 
calumny sooner or later always does) recoiled upon its authors, and 
was blown to atoms ; and Mr. Philip observes that the memory of 
Agnes, as well as of her venerated pastor, is still fresh and fragrant in 
Gamlingay and its neighbourhood, the scene of her great trials. We 
are reminded, on such an occasion, of the noble remark of Edmund 
Burke, that it was not only in the Roman customs, but it is in the 
nature and constitution of things, that calumny and abuse are essential 
parts of triumph. These things saved Bunyan from any application 
of that threatening, " Wo unto you when all men speak well of you." 

Bunyan himself had said concerning similar slanders, " devised 
of the devil and invented by his instruments, and whirled up and 
down the country against him," before his imprisonment : " I bind 
these lies and slanders to me as an ornament. God knows that I 
am innocent ; but should I not be dealt with thus wickedly by the 
world, I should want one sign of a saint and a child of God. Were 
it not that these things make the authors and abettors of them ripe 
for damnation, I would say unto them, Report it, because it will 
increase my glory." 



lxxvi INTEODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

The next most memorable event in Bunyan's life, after the compo- 
sition of the Pilgrims Progress, was that of the production and 
publication of the Holy War. This second great original work of 
Bunyan's genius and piety was published in 1682, the year in which 
the Pilgrims Progress had reached its eighth edition. He was now 
known widely, not only over England, but the world. The light 
from this new-created planet in the Christian firmament was silently 
and steadily winging its way into distant regions, 

" Shot far into the bosom of dim night." 
More than a hundred thousand copies of the Pilgrims Progress in 
English were circulated during Bunyan's lifetime, together with all 
the editions printed in the New World, besides its being translated 
into French, Flemish, Dutch, Welsh, Gaelic, and Irish. It was read 
in palaces and cottages, by men, women, and children, in cities and 
id the country, on lonely moors and among the mountains, and 
across the seas. It had been enshrined as a loved and fire-side 
book among the devout families of the Puritans of New England. 
Nay, they had there honoured it with a new dress, in an edition 
more splendid, as we should gather from Bunyan's own words, than 
any other that had been issued. Perhaps some ardent admirer of 
his genius had already, before the publication of the Holy War, 
sent him a copy from one of the rising cities of the colony of 
Massachusetts Bay. We would give much for an exemplar of the 
edition spoken of by Bunyan ; and some copies, one would think, 
must have survived the changes of time and of the Revolution. 

" "Tis in New England, under such advance, 
Receives there so much loving countenance, 
As to be trimm'd, new clothed, and deck'd with gems, 
That it may shew its features and its limbs. 
Yet more ; so public doth my Pilgrim walk, 
That of him thousands daily sing and talk." 

It was under the countenance of such love and reputation, already 
won to Bunyan, that both Ins Holy War and the Second Part of 
the Pilgrims Progress took their places in the sacred literature of 
the world. With a humour that touched the character of nations in 
a line, as of individuals in a word, Bunyan said, — 

" In France and Flanders, where men kill each other, 
My Pilgrim is esteem' d a friend, a brother. 
In Holland, too, 'tis said, as I am told, 
My Pilgrim is with some worth more than gold. 
Highlanders and wild Irish can agree 
My Pilgrim should familiar with them be." 

To bring together the hearts and minds of Englishmen, French- 
men, Dutchmen, Flemings, Highlanders, and wild Irish, in admlra- 




Bunyan's Chapel, Zoar Street, Southwark. 

tion of a book by an English village tinker, a man described in the 
King's writs as a common frequenter and upholder of conventicles, 
a criminal just released from twelve years' imprisonment in the 
common jail, and pardoned for the crime of being at conventicles 
and nonconformity, might well have been regarded as one of the 
highest triumphs of genius. But it was not in that way that Bunyan 
was looking at this marvel of God's providence and grace. He 
recounted these things in no spirit of pride or self-applause, but as 
an appropriate, pleasant, and characteristic introduction of the 
Second Part of his Pilgrim to those who had entertained the First. 
If any had seen Christian on his way, he felt assured they would 
welcome Christiana and her boys with joy and gladness. And all 
would be glad to hear, from Bunyan himself, with how much 
pleasure, and by how great multitudes, in various kingdoms and 
languages, the account of Christian and Hopeful had been already 
received and pondered. 

In the poetical preface to the Holy War, a shaft of light is thrown 
back upon the composition of the Pilgrims Progress, shewing how 
entirely and exclusively it was the work of Bunyan's own mind, 
taught indeed of God, but of man neither taught nor guided. Bunyan 
traces it to the play of his affections, sanctified and fixed on heaven ; 
the fountain of Divine grace in his heart : 

" It came from mine own heart, so to my head." 

It was heart-ivorJc, the whole of it, and therefore a labour of love, 
such as no man ever before entered on in prison, and an employment 
of unexpected delight, we venture to say, such as no author ever 
experienced in the composition of any work of genius. It was 
perfectly original, a new creation in the world's literature : 

" Manner and matter too was all my own, 
Nor was it unto any mortal known, 
Till I had done it. Nor did any then, 
By books, by wits, by tongues, or hand, or pen, 
Add five words to it, or write half a line 
Thereof : the whole and every whit is mine." 



lxxviii INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

Bunyan's genius, so far as it owed its excitement and nourishment 
to any human mind, was indebted mainly, almost solely, to Fox the 
martyrologist and Martin Luther. We have reason to believe that 
Fox's History of the Martyrs and Luther's Commentary on Oalatians 
did more to form his mind than all other influences, apart from the 
Bible and Divine grace, put together. Those rude verses written in 
Bunyan's tattered copy of the Boole of Martyrs shew that the fire 
of that work and of its noble-minded author, and of the burning 
witnesses for Christ recorded in it, had kindled in his own soul. And 
as to Luther's Commentary , it met him at a time when the conflicts 
of Ms tortured spirit with the infernal tempter gave to its pages 
almost the claims of inspiration, and made it seem as the hand 
reached down from heaven with leaves from the Tree of Life for his 
healing. 

Of those other less exciting works, which at the age of eighteen 
or nineteen Bunyan says he sometimes read with his wife, we have 
already intimated that they could not have done much, except, as 
Bunyan says, to beget within him some serious desires. " Some things 
that were somewhat pleasing to him," he says he found in them, but 
that was all ; nor do we know of any trace, in all his writings, of 
either of those books, the Practice of Piety and the Plain Mans 
Pathway to Heaven, except it be in a passage in the Sighs from Hell, 
where Bunyan puts into the conversation of the lost sinner with 
Father Abraham the confession of his treatment of the Scriptures : 
" The Scriptures, thought I, what are they ? a dead letter, a little ink 
and paper, of three or four shillings price. Alas ! what is the Scrip- 
ture? Give me a ballad, a news-book, George on Horseback, or 
Bevis of Southampton." This Bevis of Southampton is one of the 
books which Atheist, in the Plain Mans Pathway, advises a poor 
farmer, under conviction of sin, to read for the consolation and 
refreshment of a wounded spirit. 

This resemblance is so slight as not to be worth naming ; but even 
if we could gather before us all the books that Bunyan ever read of 
human composition, except Fox and Luther, it is probable that 
nowhere could any greater trace than this be found of anything 
gained or imitated from them. 

There is one curious and interesting passage in the Jerusalem 
Sinner saved, in which Bunyan relates a story that he had read 
twenty-four years before the time in which he was then preaching or 
writing. The name of the book, he says, he has entirely forgotten ; 
but he introduces the recital, and goes on in it, much after the 
manner of venerable Hugh Latimer, whom, in some points, Bunyan 
resembles not a little in his preaching. The story is of Martha and 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. lxxix 

Mary, in connexion with Simon the Pharisee ; and Bunyan tells it 
with admirable familiarity and beauty. " If I come short in any cir- 
cumstance," says he, " I beg pardon of those that can correct me. It 
is three or four and twenty years since I saw the book ; yet I have, 
as far as my memory will admit, given you the relation of the 
matter." That book, whatever it may have been, made a deeper im- 
pression upon Bunyan' s mind than the two works that were the 
marriage -portion of his wife. Its style must have pleased Bunyan's 
fancy, and its loving piety went down into his heart. We know not 
that any antiquarian or book- collector ever had the happiness to light 
upon this work. 

There were, in the time of Bunyan's childhood, no books like his 
own great production, to which, and to their author, the minds of the 
reader could never cease to look back with gratitude and love ; no 
books that could take that hold upon the soul, or exercise that power, 
which Cowper has so beautifully described in his own experience of 
its influence, as belonging to the sweet work of Bunyan. That 
exquisite and oft-repeated passage can never tire, and, in truth, seems 
of right to belong to every biographical sketch of the author of the 
Pilgrim's Progress. 

11 thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wing 
Back to the season of life's happy spring, 
I pleased remember, and while memory yet 
Holds fast her office here can ne'er forget ; 
Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale 
Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail ; 
Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style, 
May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile ; 
Witty, and well employ'd, and, like thy Lord, 
Teaching in parables His slighted Word ; 
I name thee not, lest so despised a name 
Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame ; 
Yet e'en in transitory life's late day, 
That mingles all my brown with sober gray, 
Revere the Man, whose Pilgrim marks the road 
And guides the Progress of the soul to God." 

Mr. Off or has gone through a most curious, elaborate, and indefa- 
tigable examination and analysis of monkish, manuscripts and printed 
books prior to the Reformation, and up to the year 1678, when the 
first edition of the Pilgrims Progress was published, in order to 
show the impossibility of Bunyan having copied or received anything 
from any other writer, either in the conception or execution of any 
part of his immortal allegory. He says that every allegorical work, 
previous to the eighteenth century, in all the European languages, 
has been examined. It is interesting as a matter of literary and theo- 
logical curiosity, and also as a foil, shewing the superiority and entire 



1XXX INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

originality of Bunyan's genius, to compare these analyses with the 
pages of his own work. But no reader of the Pilgrims Progress, 
the Holy War, and the Grace Abounding, would ever need such a 
demonstration, or ever doubted, or ever can doubt, that in manner 
and matter too, the Pilgrims Progress was, all and every part, the 
whole and every whit, Bunyan's own. Ryland's homely comparison 
of a piece of hop-sacking and the finest cambric, or John Newton's, of 
a countryman's dried walking-stick with Aaron's rod that blossomed, 
were happy illustrations of the difference between all other men's 
attempts at allegory and John Bunyan's. 

But this strongly-marked originality of Bunyan's genius is quite 
as striking in the Holy War as it is in the Pilgrims Progress. Indeed, 
that work has no prototype in any language, nor any approximation 
to it. No dream, or vision, or fancy, or artful thought of mortal 
mind recorded, ever bore any resemblance to it. Its personifications, 
its characters, its scenery, the warriors, banners, shields, and music 
of its contending armies, its changes of victory and defeat, are alto- 
gether peculiar, and yet perfectly natural. There is in it an exquisite 
mixture of solemnity and humour, of terror and of pathos. Its 
tracery of inward experiences, of immortal hopes and fears, of all 
the events and feelings of the Christian conflict, portrayed by the 
different faculties of the mind and states of the heart, set in human 
shape, and living and acting before us, and all as the machinery and 
advancement of a great spiritual epic, are things of which we know 
no other example in any literature. 

In truth, it is the pilgrimage from the City of Destruction to the 
City of Immanuel reproduced under another form, as different from 
that of the Pilgrims Progress, almost, as the Apocalypse of John 
is different from the Psalms of David, or as Edwards's History of 
Redemption is different from Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Re- 
ligion in the Snd. And yet it is the same pilgrimage, the same work 
traced, of the conversion and sanctification of fallen man. In the 
Holy War, it is an abstraction of the race personified, and redemp- 
tion carried on, the supernatural in the poem being brought into the 
fore-ground ; in the Pilgrims Progress it is an individual selected, 
and toiling upwards from earth to heaven, nearly the whole space 
and interest being taken up with his movements. In both the Holy 
War and the Pilgrims Progress there is a combination of theology 
and experience, most beautiful and instructive ; but in the Holy War 
it is the more the theological form, God ivorking in you ; in the Pil- 
grims Progress it is more the experimental form, man receiving and 
working under God's grace. 

In the Holy War Bunyan shews himself a skilful metaphysician 






AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. lxxxi 

as well as theologian, in his apportionment of the provinces and 
operation of the understanding, the will, the conscience, the affections, 
in the profoundest work of metaphysics the mind of man can ever be 
engaged in studying, that is, the process of the new creation of the 
soul in Christ Jesus. And indeed, the complications of the allegory 
are so deep, as it proceeds, that the ingenuity even of Bunyan's 
mind must have been tasked to sustain it ; and yet, amidst all the 
minute threads of the web he is weaving, he is evidently never at a 
loss, never labouring, but always at ease ; all is as spontaneous, as 
ready, as apparently as unpremeditated, as Bimyan's own personal 
heart- work of prayer and praise. The book in this view is astonish- 
ing; dealing as it does with such multitudinous abstractions, they are 
nevertheless presented, and act their parts, not as by any elaborate 
artificial arrangement, but as naturally as the characters in the 
Pilgrims Progress itself. It is a work that must have cost much 
greater labour than that more simple and obvious allegory; but we 
have no revelation or record of the manner in which its conception 
or its execution went on in the mind of the writer. There is an 
exquisite vein of quiet humour, wit, and satire running through it, 
especially through the last half, in the disclosure of the character and 
fate of the various crafty Diabolonians figuring in the town of Mansoul. 
There are in the course of this work four separate periods and 
subjects : first, the fall and ruin of the town by the wiles of the 
devil ; second, the conquest of it by Immanuel, which is the work of 
conversion ; third, the falling away and backsliding of the town, and 
its wretched state in that condition; and fourth, its recovery by 
Divine grace after long misery, and its final possession by the Prince. 
In all these stages of the work there is wonderful skill and beauty 
in tracing both the law of sin and of death in our corrupt nature, and 
the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus ; the soul dead in tres- 
passes and sins, and the workings of truth and grace to redeem it. 
What can be more admirable than the delineations of the various 
tactics of Diabolus and his Captains, and their management after the 
town was taken ; their putting Captain Prejudice to keep guard at 
Ear-gate, and sixty men under him called Deaf-men ; their imprison- 
ment and darkening of the understanding, debauching of the con- 
science, and appointing of new laws and officers ; their pride in their 
two great guns, High-mind and Heady, and the terrible armour of 
proof provided by Diabolus for the inhabitants of the town, from the 
head-piece to the hand-weapons. The account of the Recorder 
Conscience after the town was taken, with the terrible noises with 
which he still made the whole town to shake, when his fits were 
on him, is a fine passage ; and when Immanuel had laid siege to the 



Lxxxii INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

town, and was about to take it, the promises of reformation proposed 
by Diabolus if he would draw off his forces, and afterwards the 
conditions of submission drawn out by Mr. Loath-to-stoop, with the 
attitudes of that man, are equally admirable. So likewise are the 
judicial trials of Incredulity, Atheism, Hard-heart, Lustings, and 
others, the mayor, aldermen, and burgesses of the town while it was 
in Diabolus's possession. 

One of the most instructive satirical passages in the whole book is 
that of the enlistment of Tradition, Human-wisdom, and Man's-in- 
vention in the army of Immanuel, when his captains came to recover 
the town. These fellows came crossing over the country, and proper 
men they were, and men of courage and skill to appearance ; and 
Boanerges being at first much taken with them, they were made cap- 
tains under him in the Prince's army ; but in one of the very first 
brisk skirmishes, old Will-be -will, under Diabolus, out of the town, 
took them prisoners. Whereupon, when they had been put in ward 
and examined, the giant Diabolus asked them if they were willing to 
serve him against their former captain. They then told him plainly, 
that they did not so much live by religion as by the fates of fortune, 
and that since his worship was willing to entertain them, they would 
most certainly be willing to serve him. There never was penned a more 
masterly hit at the folly of throwing the support of religion upon the 
testimony of human science, tradition, and mere external evidence. 

The scenery of Hell-Gate Hill, the forays of Incredulity and his 
forces, the various broods of outlandish Doubters, the villains Cove- 
tousness, Lasciviousness, and Anger in the town, under the masques 
of Messieurs Prudent-thrifty, Harmless-mirth, and Good-zeal, which 
last, having hired himself out to Godly -fear, was much sooner dis- 
covered and driven away than the others ; the character and dealings 
of Mr. Carnal-security, and his collision with the excellent old gentle- 
man Mr. Godly- fear at the great feast; Mr. God's-peace with Ms 
commission ; Captains Credence, Experience, and Good-hope, with 
their unexpected defeat on one occasion, amidst apparent courage and 
success, are all admirable pictures. Equally excellent are the de- 
scriptions of the army of Doubters, and the tremendous array of 
their officers, colours, and escutcheons, together with the effect of 
the roaring noise of Hell-drum, beaten by the devil's drummer before 
the town of Mansoul ; as also the combination of Doubters and 
Blood-men, with their defeat and trial, especially the four that were 
hardy and villanous enough, having escaped slaughter, to line them- 
selves in the house of old Evil-questioning, and by him were enter- 
tained, to wit, Election-doubter, Vocation-doubter, Salvation- doubter, 
and Grace- doubter. 




AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS. lxxxiii 

The genealogy of the family of old Evil-questioning is set down 
with capital satire. Among his children were Legal-life, Unbelief, 
Clip-promise, Carnal-sense, Live-by-feeling, and Self-love. This Mr. 
Carnal-sense had a charmed and indestructible life ; notwithstanding 
all the efforts of the inhabitants of the town of Mansoul to apprehend 
and slay him, they could never catch him. There is great depth and 
truth in this satire ; and throughout the book there is profound know- 
ledge of the human heart, as well as of the 
Scriptures and of Divine grace. It is a system 
of theology, in the study of which, not only 
the unlettered Christian, but even the most 
practised theologian may learn wisdom. 

Four years more of life were accorded to 
Bunyan after the publication of the Second 
Part of the Pilgrims Progress. Though not in 
prison when he wrote and published that, yet 
in 1684 both he and the times were entering 
into a thick wilderness, and accordingly, though 

there is no Den for the Dreamer of the lovely forms and characters 
and fortunes of Christiana and of Mercy, yet he tells us, in the open- 
ing that he took up his lodging in a wood about a mile from the City 
of Destruction, and there dreamed again. Mr. Offor has justly referred 
to a passage in Christiana's sojourn in the town of Vanity Fair as 
marking the same distinction, Mr. Contrite and others had become 
habitual resident seven of Vanity Fair in the time of Christiana ; and 
when good old Mr. Honest asked Mr. Contrite and the rest in what 
posture their town was at present, he made answer, " You may be 
sure we are full of hurry in fair-time. 'Tis hard keeping our hearts 
and spirits in any good order, when we are in a cumbered condition. 
He that lives in such a place as this is, and that has to do with such 
as we have, has need of an item to caution him to take heed every 
moment of the day." 

" But how are your neighbours for quietness ? " said good Father 
Honest. 

"They are much more moderate now than formerly," answered 
Mr. Contrite. " You know how Christian and Faithful were used at 
our town ; but of late, I say, they have been far more moderate. I 
think the blood of Faithful lieth with load upon them till now ; for 
since they burned him, they have been ashamed to burn any more. 
In those days we were afraid to walk the streets, but now we can 
shew our heads. Then the name of a professor was odious ; now, 
specially in some parts of our town (for you know our town is large), 
religion is counted honourable." 



lxxxiv INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

As to the monster that Bunyan describes a little after this, it is 
clear from the delineation that he referred to Popery, and the attempts 
renewed, and abont to be increased, for the enlargement of its power. 
Yet Bunyan says, " He has not made that havoc of the town's-men's 
children as formerly he has done. And it is verily believed by some, 
that this Beast will die of his wounds." 

Mr. Great-heart had before met Giant Maul on behalf of Christiana 
and her fellow-pilgrims ; and the complaint of the Giant then against 
God's ministers, as Bunyan explains in the margin, was, that they 
practised the craft of a kidnapper, gathering up women and children, 
and carrying them into a strange country, to the weakening of the 
kingdom of the giant's master. This was a true satire upon the laws 
and charges against nonconforming ministers of the Gospel, and their 
preaching to the people, notwithstanding Giant Maul's sophistry and 
club. And Great-heart's answer was in Bunyan's own spirit : "I 
am a servant of the God of heaven ; my business is to persuade 
sinners to repentance ; I am commanded to do my endeavour to turn 
men, women, and children from darkness to light, and from the 
power of Satan to God : and if tins be indeed the ground of thy 
quarrel, let us fall to it as soon as thou wilt." 

So at it they went, and still the battle lasts ; for though then the 
Giant was slain, he still lives, and still, in Church and State, accuses 
God's ministers as kidnappers, and sometimes throws them into 
prison ; and still the conflict is for perfect freedom in preaching and 
hearing of the Word of God, as men choose, according to their own 
conscience, and without interference either of crown or hierarchy. 
The conflict is for undivided and undisturbed allegiance of Christ's 
people to Jesus Christ alone. Is the Church God's or man's ? Is she 
the chaste Spouse of Christ, or the Scarlet Lady supported by the 
Beast, over peoples, and multitudes, and nations, and tongues ? Still 
tins is indeed the ground of the quarrel. 

During these last years of his life, and indeed from the time of 
Ins release out of prison, and his entrance on the full responsibility 
of his pastorship, to the period of Ins death, Bunyan's labours, both 
as a preacher and writer, were incessant, and exceedingly great. He 
mingled the vocations of a pastor and an author more successfully 
and laboriously than any other man, except Baxter. " Here's sixty 
pieces of his labours," Charles Doe quaintly remarks, at the end of 
the catalogue of his books, published and unpublished ; "and he 
was sixty years of age." Besides, he might have added with Paul, 
in regard to no small region of country, " what cometh upon me 
from without, the care of all the churches ; " for in the care and love 
of the people Bunyan had a diocese larger than a bishop's, preaching 



AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 



XXXV 



whenever lie had opportunity. A willing, happy mind bore him on 
in all these labours ; for his was like a seraph's fire, and his ardent 
heavenly affections were as wings to his mind, instead of his mind 
having to labour in sustaining Ms affections ; preaching or writing, 
it was all with him a labour of love. 

He often visited London, and in the region round about Bedford he 
was indefatigable in his circuits and preachings of the Gospel. " At 
all times," it is a striking and true remark of Mr. Philip, " his cha- 
racter and talents commanded the veneration of all rabbles, except the 
rabble magistracy of the Restoration." We wonder at the treatment 
of men like Baxter by such creatures as Chief-Justice Jefferies , but 
such wretches would have spit upon Jesus Christ Himself had He 
been arraigned before them, and they supported by the countenance 
and applause of a crowned monarch. We have said that, for the 
most part, in the evening of Bunyan's life, the enemy was as still as 
a stone ; yet persecutors and informers are said to have often searched 
for him, especially about the close of Charles's reign, but God pre- 
served him. His reputation as preacher and writer had grown so 
great, that, in London, the place of preaching would not hold half 
the crowds that flocked to hear him. His friendly and affectionate 
admirer and brother minister, Charles Doe, says that he had seen 
above twelve hundred persons to hear him at a morning lecture on a 
working-day in dark winter-time, and three thousand at a town's-end 
meeting-house, where he had almost to go upon men's shoulders to 
get into the pulpit. 

The habitual tenor of his preaching may be fairly gathered from 
the comparison of such books as his Jerusalem Sinner saved, and 
his Come, and Welcome, to Jesus Christ, with such as the Strait Gate, 
the Heavenly Footman, the Sighs from Hell, the Barren Fig-Tree, 
and the Greatness of the Soul, and its Ruin. 
Some of these works, it is certainly known, 
and all, it can scarcely be doubted, grew 
out of his preaching, or were simple en- 
largements of the same. The excellent 
and learned Dr. Owen sometimes heard 
him, and never exhibited both piety and 
judgment more truly, than when he made 
answer to King Charles's reproof for going 
to hear an illiterate tinker prate, " Please 
your majesty, could I possess that tinker's 
abilities for preaching, I would most gladly 
relinquish all my learning." Owen was right, 
and the anecdote is exceedingly to his Buny&n-s Puipa, 

Ml 




lxxxvi INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE 

credit ; for Bunyan's abilities for preaching, Owen well knew, resulted 
from the teachings and influences of the Holy Spirit, without which 
all human learning, even in God's Word, would be vain; and, 
moreover, Bunyan's abilities for preaching were precisely the same 
gifts of incomparable genius and piety that produced the Pilgrims 
Progress. Dr. Owen never said a sincerer or truer thing. The 
piety alone, the gifts of grace and love, displayed in Bunyan's preach- 
ing were worth more than all the learning in all the universities and 
bishoprics in England. What is it not worth, to be taught of the 
Spirit of God ! Even as to the matter of theology itself, the tinker's 
abilities for preaching were worth all Dr. Owen's learning. 

And indeed, considered as a theologian, Bunyan must be regarded 
as one of the foremost in that age of theologians, and one of the most 
original in the world; for he drew his theology solely from the Scrip- 
tures and experience, and gained nothing from systems modelled by 
the Fathers before liim, nor at second-hand. Amidst the ponderous 
tomes of theological speculation in any well-selected library, a man 
feels sometimes disposed to say, " I wish that, in the midst of all the 
systems of theology taught from childhood, where no man possesses 
knowledge immingled with prejudice, or not received more or less 
from the hands of a favourite master, and where every theological 
opinion has its orthodoxical or heterodoxical bias beforehand, — I 
could wish that it were possible to have the conclusions of some 
strong, frank, ingenuous mind, drawn from the Scriptures alone; 
some mind absolutely shut up to the Scriptures, and that never 
could have got its opinions from men's libraries, or from the Fathers, 
because knowing no book of divinity but the Word of God. We 
should then have a fair view of what an unprejudiced mind would 
see in that Word ; and that view would, most likely, comprehend the 
true theology." 

At first thought a man might imagine himself dealing with a 
chimera impossible to be realised. And yet it is almost exactly this 
supposition which has been realised in Bunyan's case. He has drawn 
Ins theology only from the Scriptures; " the Bible and the Concord- 
ance," said he, " are my only library in my writings, and I never 
fished in other men's waters;" and truly it is an invaluable tiling 
to be able to gaze upon the body of a theology so produced. It is a 
Christian theology, for Christ is in and through the whole of it, its 
light, its life, its soul, its all. It is a theology of grace, not anato- 
mised and classified as dry bones in a museum, or bare as the 
skeletons of trees in winter ; but like a green forest in the month of 
June, with the breath of the wind whispering over it, and stirring 
the leaves at sunrise and sunset. It is a theology, not of dogmatism, 



AUTHOE OF THE PILGEIM'S PEOGEESS. Ixxxvii 

but of life; not of form merely, but of feeling; not of truth merely, 
but of grace and truth by Jesus Christ. 

And Bunyan was also a poet. What else, indeed, are the Pilgrims 
Progress and the Holy War, but true and noble poems ? But even in 
the poetical form, and in effusions almost unpremeditated, the mind 
of this remarkable man exhibited a command of thought, imagery, 
and language, with a sweetness and nobleness of feeling, and a sense 
of rugged harmony, which, cultivated with one half the assiduity and 
fervour bestowed by Wordsworth upon the training and enriching of 
his imaginative and meditative faculties, would have made a mighty 
poet. Indeed, there were fathomless depths of beauty in Bunyan's 
soul, beauty of thought, beauty of feeling, beauty of natural lan- 
guage ; and what was better than all, no consciousness of it what- 
ever, nor attempt after it, no more than a bird, cutting the air with 
its wings, is conscious of its movement, or seeks to show its plumage. 
And the melodies that fell from him were such as to remind us of 
his own exquisitely beautiful description of the music heard by 
Christiana and her companions from the birds and the happy shep- 
herd's boy in the Valley of Humiliation : — 

" They thought they heard in a grove, a little way off on the right 
hand, a most curious, melodious note, with words much like these : 

Through all my life thy favour is 

So frankly shew'd to me, 
That in thy house for evermore 

My dwelling-place shall be. 

And listening still, she thought she heard another answer it, saying, 

For why ! the Lord our God is good, 

His mercy is for ever sure; 
His truth at all times firmly stood, 

And shall from age to age endure. 

So Christiana asked Prudence what it was that made those curious 
notes. ' They are,' said she, ' our country birds ; they sing these 
notes but seldom, except it be at the spring, when the flowers 
appear, and the sun shines warm, and then you hear them all the 
day long.' " Such was the vein of Bunyan's poetry, such as might 
" make the woods and groves and solitary places, places desirous to 
be in." 

Bunyan's style, so far as it was not a tendency born in him, grew 
out of his habitual and exclusive familiarity with the English Bible- 
It is a triumphant example of the power of that one Book, if the 
Spirit of God goes with it, to educate and arm the mind. Bunyan 
thought nothing of this ; it never entered into his head to imagine, 
while he was studying the Bible as for his life, with such intense, 



lxxxviii 



INTEODUCTOEY MEMOIE OF THE 



incessant, protracted, and fiery earnestness, that he was thus acquir- 
ing a native mastery over the purest forms of the English language, 
such as the foremost minds in the nation might envy. He sought an 
infinitely higher object ; but seeking first the kingdom of God and 
His righteousness, all other things were added to him. While the 
spirit of the Bible took possession of his inmost being, the idiomatic 
beauty of its English translation entered into his soul, and attended 
every movement, every expression of his thoughts and feelings ; it 
fell upon his imagination as a mantle, it was diffused around his 
mind as an atmosphere : he found in it a dialect exactly suited to the 
simplicity of his nature. 

And indeed, a childlike being such as he was will always speak 
and write in simple sweet Saxon, the language of home and of child- 
hood. Childlike natures in literature have ever done this, as in the 
cases of Goldsmith, Cowper, and Burns. Bunyan's style is a thing 
of such unconscious ease, propriety, and unelaborate grace; the 
thought to which he wishes to give expression, he conveys in such 
plain, unassuming words, intelligible by all classes, with such purity 
of conversational phrases, and such fine natural idioms, that it flows 
like the music and turnings of a running brook, along which you are 
wandering in a green pasture, or among the woods in spring. Be- 
sides this, his language has at times no small degree of imaginative 
power, and his pages are sometimes flashing with the quick and 
graphic light of whole pictures presented in a single sentence. 

Bunyan was only thirty-two years of 
/ -^ N -) age when he was thrown into prison. He 

must have been somewhere about the 
fortieth year of his life when he composed 
the Pilgrims Progress. And he was pro- 
bably about fifty-four years of age when 
he wrote the Holy War, a work which 
developes a fire of imagination and in- 
vention undiminished, a most profound 
knowledge of the human heart under the 
workings of Divine grace, and the same 
simplicity and ptuity of style characteris- 
ing all his productions. 

The Jerusalem Sinner saved, which is 

one of his best minor works, was one 

Bunyac'e cottage. among the numerous publications of the 

last year of his life, in 1688, although he 

had preached the substance of it many years and many times before. 

That work is the only one in which he illustrates his subject by a 




AUTHOE OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. Ixxxix 

reference to the exceeding sinfulness of his own early life. " I in- 
fected," says he, " all the youth of the town where I was born with 
all manner of youthful vanities. The neighbours counted me so ; 
my practice proved me so ; wherefore Christ Jesus took me first, and 
taking me first, the contagion was much allayed all the town over. 
When God made me sigh, they would hearken, and inquiringly say, 
What is the matter with John? They also gave their various 
opinions of me ; but, as I said, sin failed and cooled as to his full 
career. When I went out to seek the bread of life, some of them 
would follow, and the rest be put into a muse at home. Yea, almost 
the town, at first, at times, would go out to hear at the place where I 
found good ; yea, young and old, for a while, had some reformation 
on them ; also, some of them, perceiving that God had mercy on me, 
came crying to Him for mercy too." From beginning to end, this 
sovereignty and fulness of the Divine mercy, by which the Kedeemer 
delights to save " the biggest sinners " whomsoever He will, was a 
favourite subject with Bunyan. No wonder that it was, for the glory 
of God's sovereign grace had never been more remarkably displayed 
than in the example of Bunyan's own conversion. 

The power of Bunyan, both as a preacher and a writer, like that 
also of Luther, lay in Iris own deep experience of the things of God. 
It was thus that he knew so thoroughly God's Word, and had the 
comfort of such immutable certainty in it. " When a man has this 
certainty," says Luther, " he has overcome the Serpent : but if he be 
doubtful of the doctrine, it is for him very dangerous to dispute with 
the devil." Bunyan's disputes with the devil drove him continually 
to God's Word, and then God's Word prepared him and gave him 
the victory in his conflicts with the devil. Bunyan could say with 
Luther, " I have grounded my preaching upon the literal Word ; he 
that pleases may follow me ; he that will not may stay. I call upon 
St. Peter, St. Paul, Moses, and all the saints, to say whether they 
ever fundamentally comprehended one single word of God without 
studying it over and over and over again?" 

Again, Luther says (and the passage is interesting set over against 
the same experience of Bunyan), " I did not learn my divinity at 
once, but was constrained by my temptations to search deeper and 
deeper ; for no man without trials and temptations can attain a true 
understanding of the holy Scriptures. St. Paul had a devil that 
beat him with fists, and with temptations drove him diligently to 
study the holy Scripture. I had hanging on my neck the pope, the 
universities, all the deep-learned, and the devil; these hunted me 
into the Bible, wherein I sedulously read, and thereby, God be 
praised, at length attained a true understanding of it. Without such 



XC INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 

a devil we are but only speculators of divinity, and according to our 
vain reasoning, dream that so and so it must be, as the monks and 
friars in monasteries do. The holy Scripture of itself is certain and 
true ; God grant me grace to catch hold of its just use." 

The vein of deep genuine humour that runs through Bunyan's 
character and writings was the feature in which he greatly resembled 
Luther. That vein is visible sometimes even in the most solemn of 
his works ; and how truly has he said in explanation of it, 

" Some tilings are of that nature as to make 
One's fancy chuckle while his heart doth ache." 

It was the combination of an aching heart and a humorous fancy- 
that produced the comic ballad of John Giljrin ; yet, had not the 
author been known, who would not have denied the possibility that 
such a piece could have been written by Cowper? The union of 
genuine, rich humour with deep piety, and the chastened spontaneous 
use of it, under the guidance of a just judgment, are among the 
rarest manifestations of intellectual power. 

During the last year of his life in 1688, Bunyan is said to have 
published six volumes of his writings, — an industry that must have 
been produced by his foresight of impending calamities, and his 
earnest desire to get as much truth before the people as he could 
while the times of quiet lasted. But the great and incessant labour thus 
occasioned must have exhausted his strength, and prepared Ms frame 
for the attack of that sudden disease by wMch Ms life was ter- 
minated. In the midst of tMs activity in preaching and publishing, 
he was called upon to go to Beading on a mission of reconciliation 
between an offended father and an anxious son. From tMs labour 
of harmony and love, in wMch he was successful, he returned to 
London on horseback in the rain, and on arriving at the house of 
Ms friend Mr. Strudwick, was seized with a violent fever. The time 
had come when Bunyan himself must realise that last scene tMough 
wMch the imagination of the dreamer had conducted the children of 
God in so enchanting a manner in the Pilgrims Progress. The fear 
of death is quite taken away in Ms beautiful descriptions of the pass- 
ing of CMistiana and her children over the river ; and just so, when 
he himself came to pass over, the gloom was all gone. 

Bunyan had been twice married during Ms own pilgrimage. His 
first wife he himself attended down to the Biver of Death, and wit- 
nessed, it can hardly be doubted, so sweet a departure of her spirit, 
that it may have been her experience, as well as Ms own confidence 
in CMist, wMch dictated the bright closing scenes of the Second 
Part of the Pilgrims Progress. God gave to him his first wife to be 




with Mm in Ms setting ont from the City of Destruction, and at the 
Slough of Despond, and in Ms conflicts with Apollyon, and Ms 
passage through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and in all his 
severe temptations up to the earliest exercise of Ms ministry. The 
same kind and watchful Providence allotted to him a second wife, to 
act that noble part recorded of her in the processes of his trial, with 
such Mgh, heroic courage and CMistian firmness, and to bless and 
comfort Mm in Ms imprisonment, and to share in the happiness of 
Ms release and the success of Ms labours. But now he seemed 
about to die alone ; though surrounded by Mends, yet away from Ms 
beloved family. The time had come when he too must go down to- 
the River. 

There is a collection of Ms dying thoughts and sayings. They 
are certainly Ms thoughts, whether uttered in Ms last illness, or 
expressed in Ms previous life. But we would rather choose, for 
describing the picture of his dying moments, a few of the sweet 
realities recorded at the close of Ms immortal allegory, as attendant 
on the death of the righteous who die m the Lord. Indeed, nothing 
could give a more correct view of Bunyan's dying than Ms own 
account of the pilgrim Standfast in the River of Death. 

The day drew on that he must be gone, for the whole of Ms ill- 
ness was but little more than a week's duration, and it ended the last 
day of August, 1688. " So the road was full of people to see him 
take Ms journey. But behold, all the banks beyond the river were 
full of horses and chariots, wMch were come down from above to 
accompany him to the City gate. Now there was a great cahn at 
that time in the River, wherefore, when he was about half-way in, 
he stood awhile and talked to his companions that had waited upon 
him thither ; and he said, ' TMs river has been a terror to many , 
yea, the thoughts of it also have frightened me : now methinks I 
stand easy; my foot is fixed upon that on which the feet of the 
priests that bare the Ark of the Covenant stood, while Israel went 
over tliis Jordan. Cold indeed are the waters, but the thoughts of 
all that awaits me at the other side are as a glowing coal at my heart. 



XC11 



INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 



I see myself now at the end of my journey ; my toilsome days are 
ended. I am going to see that head that was crowned with thorns, 
and that face that was spit upon for me. I have formerly lived by 
hearsay and faith ; but now I go where I shall live by sight, and 
shall be with Him in whose company I delight myself. I have loved 
to hear my Lord spoken of, and wherever I have seen the print of 
His shoe in the earth, there I have coveted to set my foot too. His 
name has been to me as a civet-box, yea, sweeter than all perfumes. 
His voice to me has been most sweet, and His countenance I have 
more desired than they that have most desired the light of the sun. 
His words I did use to gather for my food, and for antidotes against 
my faintings. He has held me, and hath kept me from mine iniqui- 
ties ; yea, my steps have been strengthened in His way.' 

" Now while he was thus in discourse, his countenance changed, 
his ' strong man bowed under him ; ' and after he had said, ' Take 
me, for I am come unto Thee,' the Lord took him, and he ceased to 
be seen of men. 

" But glorious it was to see how the open region was filled with 
horses and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with singers and 
players on stringed instruments, to welcome the pilgrims as they 
went up, and followed one another in at the beautiful Gate of the 
City. And over it was written in letters of gold, Blessed abe they 
that do His commandments, that they may have right to the 
Tree oe Life, and may enter in through the gates into the 
City." 




Banyans Tomb, Bunhill Fields, 



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'HEN at the first I took my pen in hand 
Thus for to write, I did not understand 
That I at all should make a little book 
In such a mode ; nay, I had undertook 
To make another, which when almost done, 
Before I was aware, I thus begun. 

And thus it was : I, writing of the way 
And race of saints in this our gospel-day, 
Fell suddenly into an allegory 
About their journey and the way to glory, 
In more than twenty things, which I set down ; 
This done, I twenty more had in my crown ; 
And they again began to multiply, 
Like sparks that from the coals of fire do 

Nay, then, thought I, if that you breed so 

fast, 
I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last 
Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out 
The book that I already am about. 



^V 




THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 



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Well, so I did ; but yet I did not think 
To shew to all the world my pen and ink 
In such a mode ; I only thought to make 
I knew not what ; nor did I undertake 
Thereby to please my neighbour ; no, not I ; 
I did it mine own self to gratify. 

Neither did I but vacant seasons spend 
In this my scribble ; nor did I intend 
But to divert myself, in doing this, 
From worser thoughts, which make me do 
amiss. 

Thus I set pen to paper with delight, 
And quickly had my thoughts in black and 

white. 
For having now my method by the end, 
Still as I pull'd, it came ; and so I pennd 
It down ; until it came at last to be, 
For length and breadth, the bigness which 
you see. 

"Well, when I had thus put my ends to- 
gether, 

I shewed them others, that I might see 
whether 

They would condemn them, or them justify : 

And some said, "Let them live;" some, 
"Let them die ;" 

Some said, "John, print it;" others said, 
"Not so:" 

Some said, "It might do good;" others 
said, "No." 

Now was I in a strait, and did not see 
Which was the best thing to be done by me : 
At last I thought, " Since you are thus di- 
vided, 
I print it will ; " and so the case decided. 
"For," thought I, "some, I see, would 

have it done, 
Though others in that channel do not run." 
To prove, then, who advised for the best, 
Thus I thought fit to put it to the test. 




m 



THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 

I further thought, if now I did deny 
Those that would have it thus to gratify, , 
I did not know but hinder them I might ij j 

Of that which would to them be great delight. | 



For those which were not for its coming 
forth, 
I said to them, " Offend you I am loath ; 
Yet, since your brethren pleased with it be, 
Forbear to judge, till you do further see. 

If that thou wilt not read, let it alone : 
Some love the meat, some love to pick the 

bone." 
Yea, that I might them better moderate, 
I did too with them thus expostulate. 

" May I not write in such a style as this ? 
In such a method too, and yet not miss 
My end, thy good ? Why may it not be done ? 
Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright 

bring none. 
Yea, dark or bright, if they their silver drops 
Cause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops, 
Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either-; 
But treasures up the fruit theyyield together : 
Yea, so commixes both, that in her fruit 
None can distinguish this from that : they suit 
Her well when hungry : but if she be full, 
She spews out both, and makes their bless- 
ings null. 

You see the ways the fisherman doth take 
To catch the fish : what engines doth he make! 
Behold how he engageth all his wits ; 
Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets : 
Yet fish there be that neither hook nor line, 
Nor snare, nor net, nor engine can make 

thine ; 
They must be grop'd for, and be tickled too, 
Or they will not be catch'd whate'er you do. 

How doth the fowler seek to catch his game 
By divers means, all which one cannot name : 




THE AUTHORS APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 




His gun, his nets, his lime-twigs, light, and 

bell: 
He creeps, he goes, he stands ; yea, who can 

tell 
Of all his postures 1 Yet there's none of these 
Will make him master of what fowls he please. 
Yea, he must pipe and whistle to catch this ; 
Yet if he does so, that bird he will miss. 

If that a pearl may in a toad's head dwell, 
And may be found too in an oyster shell ; 
If things that promise nothing do contain 
What better is than gold ; who will disdain, 
That have an inkling of it, there to look, 
That they may find it ? Now my little book, 
(Though void of all those paintings that may 

make 
It with this or the other man to take,) 
Is not without those things that do excel 
What do in brave but empty notions dwell." 
' ' Well, yet I am not fully satisfied 
That this your book will stand when soundly 

tried." 
"Why, what's the matter 1 ?" "It is dark." 

" What though ]" 
" But it is feigned ? " What of that ? I trow 
Some men by feigned words as dark as mine 
Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine." 
"But they want solidness." "Speak, man, 

thy mind." 
"They'd drown the weak ; metaphors make 

us blind." 

Solidity, indeed, becomes the pen 
Of him that writeth things divine to men ; 
But must I needs want solidness because 
By metaphors I speak ? Were not Glod's laws, 
His gospel laws, in olden time held forth 
By types, shadows, and metaphors ? Yet loath 
Will any sober man be to find fault 
With them, lest he be found for to assault 
The highest wisdom. No, he rather stoops, 
And seeks to find out what by pins and loops, 





THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 






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By calves and sheep, by heifers and by rams, 
By birds and herbs, and by the blood of lambs, 
God speaketh to him ; and happy is he 
That finds the light and grace that in them be. 

Be not too forward, therefore, to conclude 
That I want solidness, that I am rude : 
All things solid in show, not solid be : 
All things in parables despise not we ; 
Lest things most hurtful lightly we receive, 
And things that good are of our souls be- 
reave. 

My dark and cloudy words they do but hold 
The truth, as cabinets enclose the gold. 

The prophets used much by metaphors 
To set forth truth ; yea, whoso considers 
Christ, His apostles too, shall plainly see 
That truths to this day in such mantles be. 

Am I afraid to say that holy writ, 
Which for its style and phrase puts down 

all wit, 
Is everywhere so full of all these things, — 
Dark figures, allegories,— yet there springs 
From that same book, that lustre, and those 

rays 
Of light that turn our darkest nights to days ? 

Come, let my carper to his life now look, 
And find there darker lines than in my book 
He findeth any ; yea, and let him know, 
That in his best things there are worse lines 

too. 
May we but stand before impartial men, 
To his poor one I dare adventure ten, 
That they will take my meaning in these lines 
Far better than his lies in silver shrines. 
Come, Truth, although in swaddling-clouts, 

I find 
Informs the judgment, rectifies the mind, 
Pleases the understanding, makes the will 
Submit ; the memory too it doth fill 



o 





THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 







With, what doth our imaginations please ; 
Likewise it tends our troubles to appease. 

Sound words, I know, Timothy is to use, 
And old wives' fables he is to refuse ; 
But yet grave Paul him nowhere did forbid 
The use of parables, in which lay hid 
That gold, those pearls, and precious stones 

that were 
Worth digging for, and that with greatest 

care. 

Let me add one word more : man of God, 
Art thou offended ? Lost thou wish I had 
Put forth my matter in another dress ? 
Or that I had in things been more express ? 
Three things let me propound, then I submit 
To those that are my betters, as is fit. 

1. I find not that I am denied the use 
Of this my method, so I no abuse 

Put on the words, things, readers, or be rude 
In handling figure or similitude 
In application : but all that I may 
Seek the advance of truth, this or that way. 
Denied, did I say ? Nay, I have leave 
(Examples, too, and that from them that have 
God better pleased by their words or ways 
Than any man that breatheth now-a-days), 
Thus to express my mind, thus to declare 
Things unto thee, that excellentest are. 

2. I find that men (as high as trees) will 

write 
Dialogue-wise, yet no man doth them slight 
For writing so : indeed, if they abuse 
Truth, cursed be they, and the craft they use, 
To that intent ; but yet let truth be free 
To make her sallies upon thee and me 
Which way it pleases God : for who knows how 
Better than he that taught us first to plough, 
To guide our minds and pens for his de- 
sign ? 
And he makes base things usher in divine. 



i 
t 



c. 



c^ 



THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK. 





i 



~"> 



3. I find that holy writ in many places 
Hath semblance with this method, where the 

cases 
Do call for one thing to set forth another. 
Use it I may, then, and yet nothing smother 
Truth's golden beams : nay, by this method 

may 
Make it cast forth its rays as light as day. 

And now, before I do put np my pen, 
I'll shew the profit of my book, and then 
Commit both thee and it unto that hand 
That pulls the strong down, and makes weak 
ones stand. 

This book it chalketh out before thine eye s 
The man that seeks the everlasting prize : 
It shews you whence he comes, whither he 

goes ; 
What he leaves undone ; also what he does : 
It also shews you how he runs, and runs 
Till he unto the gate of glory comes. 

It shews too who set out for life amain, 
As if the lasting crown they would attain : 
Hei'e also you may see the reason why 
They lose their labour, and like fools do die. 

This book will make a traveller of thee, 
If by its counsel thou wilt rul&d be ; 
It will direct thee to the Holy Land, 
If thou wilt its directions understand : 
Yea, it will make the slothful active be ; 
The blind also delightful things to see. 

Art thou for something rare and profit- 
able ? 

Wouldest thou see a truth within a fable ? 

Art thou forgetful ? Wouldest thou remember 

From New-year's day to the last of De- 
cember ? 

Then read my fancies ; they will stick like 
burs, 

And may be, to the helpless, comforters. 




V 




) 


\ 


A. 1 

*\0 


J 


J 


' r " j t 


1 r 







THE AUTHOR S APOLOGT FOR HIS BOOK. 

This book is writ in such a dialect 
As may the minds of listless men affect : 
It seems a novelty, and yet contains 
N Nothing but sound and honest gospel-strains. 

) 

"\ Wouldst thou divert thyself from melan- 

l choly ? 

( Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from 
1 folly? 

"Wouldst thou read riddles, and their ex- 
i planation ? 

! Or else be drowned in thy contemplation ? 

Dost thou love picking meat ? Or wouldst 
thou see 
. ) A man i' the clouds, and hear him speak to 
£ thee ? 

Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not 
/ sleep ? 

Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and 

weep ? 
Wouldest thou lose thyself and catch no harm? 
And find thyself again without a charm ? 
Wouldst read thyself, and read thou know'st 

not what, 
And yet know whether thou art blest or not, 
By reading the same lines ? Oh, then come 

hither, 
And lay my book, thy head, and heart toge- 
ther. 



'(A 



JOHN BUNYAN. 




I walked through the wil- f t 
derness of this world, I 
lighted on a certain place 



THE PILGRIM'S DISTRESS. 

place, with Ms face from ^ s °^ J looked) and saw torn 

(Acts U. 37.) t tome , ^d refrained to* 

In tHs pHgH thel ff?;nt lis wife p^-'-V^n r 1 
elf as long as lie could, xnd,u ^_ lllg ^^a cimuren snould not 

erceive his distress ; Jg&Vae could not be silent long, because 
ru^-t nia tTOulSftTlhcreased : wherefore at length he brake his 
mind to his wife and children ; and thus he began to talk to 
them : "Omy dear wife," said he, " and you, the children of 
my bowels, I, your dear friend, am in myself undone, by 
reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me ; moreover, I am 
for certain informed, that this our city will be burned with 
fire from heaven; in which fearful overthrow, both myself, 
with thee my wife, and you my sweet babes, shall miserably 
come to ruin ; except (the which yet I see not) some way of 
escape can be found, whereby we may be delivered." At this 
his relations were sore amazed; not for that they believed 
that what he had said to them was true, but because they 
thought that some frenzy distemper had got into his head ; 
therefore, it drawing towards night, and they hoping that 
sleep might settle Ms brains, with all haste they got him to 
bed : but the night was as troublesome to "him as the day ; 
wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. 
So, when the morning was come, they would know how he 
did: he told them, "Worse and worse." He also set to 
talking to them again ; but they began to be hardened. They 
also thought to drive away his distemper by harsh and surly 
carriages to hini : sometimes they would deride, sometimes 
they would chide, and sometimes they would quite neglect 
him. Wherefore he began to retire himself to his chamber, to 
pray for and pity them, and also to condole his own misery. He 
* Is. lxiv. 6 ; Luke xiv. 33 ; Ps, xsxviii. 4 ; Hab. ii. 2 ; Acts xri. 20. 



sm 




would also walk solitarily 
in the fields, sometimes 
reading and sometimes 
praying; and thus for 
some days he spent his 
time. 

Now T saw, upon a time 
when he was walking in the 

niS mind ' and > as he read, he burst out, 







as lie had done before, crying, " What shall I do to be saved ? " 
(Acts xvi. 30, 31.) 

I saw also that he looked this way and that way, as if he 
would run ; yet he stood still, because (as I perceived) he 
could not tell which way to go. I looked then, and saw a man 
named Evangelist coming to him, and asked, " Wherefore dost 
thou cry?" He answered, "Sir, I perceive by the book in 
my hand that I am condemned to die, and after that to come 
to judgment (Heb. ix. 27) ; and I find that I am not willing 
to do the first (Job xvi. 21, 22), nor able to do the second" 
(Ezek. xxii. 14). 

Then said Evangelist, " Why not willing to die, since this 
life is attended with so many evils ?" The man answered, 
" Because I fear that this burden that is upon my back will 
sink me lower than the grave, and I shall fall into Tophet 
(Is. xxx. 33). And, sir, if I be not fit to go to prison, I am 
not fit, I am sure, to go to judgment, and from thence to exe- 
cution ; and the thoughts of these things make me cry." 

Then said Evangelist, "If this be thy condition, why 
standest thou still?" He answered, "Because I know not 
whither to go." Then he gave him a parchment roll, and 
there was written within, Ely from the wrath to come (Matt. 
ri. 7). 

The man, therefore, read it, and looking upon Evangelist 



EVANGELIST INSTRUCTS HIM. 5 

very carefully, said, " Whither must I fly ? " Then said Evan- 
gelist, pointing with his finger over a very wide field, " Do you 
see yonder wicket- gate ? " (Matt. vii. 14.) The man said, 
" No." Then said the other, " Do you see yonder shining 
light?" (Ps. cxix. 105; 2 Pet. i. 19.) He said, "I think I 
do." Then said Evangelist, " Keep that light in your eye, 
and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou see the gate ; at 
which, when thou knockest, it shall be told thee what thou 
shalt do." 

- So I saw in my dream that the man began to run. Now 
he had not run far from his own door, but his wife and chil- 
dren perceiving it, began to cry after him to return (Lu. xiv. 
26); but the man put his fingers in his ears, and ran on, 
crying, " Life ! life ! Eternal life ! " So he looked not 
behind him, but fled towards the middle of the plain (Gen. 
xix. 17). 

The neighbours also came out to see him run ; and, as he 
ran, some mocked (Jer. xx. 10), others threatened, and some 




6 OBSTINATE AND PLIABLE 

cried after him to return ; and among those that did so, there 
were two that were resolved to fetch him back by force. The 
name of the one was Obstinate, and the name of the other 
Pliable. Now by this time the man was got a good distance 
from them ; but, however, they were resolved to pursue him ; 
which they did, and in a little time they overtook him. Then 
said the man, " Neighbours, wherefore are ye come ?" They 
said, " To persuade you to go back with us." But he said, 
" That can by no means be. You dwell," said he, " in the 
city of Destruction ; the place also where I was born. I see 
it to be so ; and dying there, sooner or later, you will sink 
lower than the grave into a place that burns with fire and 
brimstone : be content, good neighbours, and go along with 
me." 

"What!" said Obstinate, "and leave our friends and our 
comforts behind us ! " 

"Yes," said Christian, for that was his name; "because 
that all which you shall forsake is not worthy to be compared 
with a little of that that I am seeking to enjoy (2 Cor. iv. 18) ; 
and if you will go along with me, and hold it, you shall fare 
as I myself; for there where I go is enough and to spare 
(Lu. xv. 17). Come away, and prove my words." 

Obst. What are the things you seek, since you leave all the 
world to find them ? 

Chr. I seek an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that 
fadeth not away (1 Pet. i. 4); and it is laid up in heaven, 
and safe there, to be bestowed, at the time appointed, on 
them that diligently seek it (Heb. xi. 16). Read it so, if you 
will, in my book. 

Obst. "Tush," said Obstinate, "away with your book: 
will you go back with us or no ?" 

Chr. "No, not I," said the other; "because I have laid 
my hand to the plough " (Lu. ix. 62). 

Obst. Come, then, neighbour Pliable, let us turn again, and 
go home without him : there is a company of these crazed- 
headed coxcombs, that when they take a fancy by the end are 
wiser in their own eyes than seven men that can render a 
reason. 



PURSUE CHRISTIAN. / 

Pli. Then said Pliable, " Don't revile ; if what the good 
Christian says is true, the things he looks after are better than 
ours : my heart inclines to go with my neighbour." 

Obst. What ! more fools still ? Be ruled by me, and go 
back ; who knows whither such a brain-sicl fellow will lead 
you ? Gro back, go back, and be wise. 

Chr. Nay, but do thou come with thy neighbour Pliable ; 
there are such things to be had which I spoke of, and many 
more glories besides : if you believe not me, read here in this 
book ; and, for the truth of what is expressed therein, behold, 
all is confirmed by the blood of him that made it (Heb. ix* 
17-21). 




" Well, neighbour Obstinate," saith Pliable, " I begin to 
come to a point ; I intend to go along with this good man, 
and to cast in my lot with him : but, my good companion, do 
you know the way to this desired place ? " 

Chr. I am directed by a man whose name is Evangelist, to 
speed me to a little gate that is before us, where we shall 
receive instructions about the way. 

Pli. Come, then, good neighbour, let us be going. 

Then they went both together. 

Obst. " And I will go back to my place," said Obstinate ; 
" I will be no companion of such misled fantastical fellows." 



8 PLIABLE ACCOMPANIES HIM. 

Now I saw in my dream, that when Obstinate was gone 
back, Christian and Pliable went talking over the plain : and 
thns they began their discourse. 

Chr. Come, neighbour Pliable, how do yon do ? I am glad 
yon are persuaded to go along with me. Had even Obstinate 
himself but felt what I have felt of the powers and terrors 
of what is yet unseen, he would not thus lightly have given 
us the back. 

Pli. Come, neighbour Christian, since there is none but us 
two here, tell me now further what the things are, and how to 
be enjoyed, whither we are going. 

Chr. I can better conceive of them with my mind than 
speak of them with my tongue : but yet, since you are 
desirous to know, I will read of them in my book. 

Pli. And do you think that the words of your book are 
certainly true ? 

Chr. Yes, verily ; for it was made by him that cannot lie 
(Tit. i. 2). 

Pli. Well said. What things are they ? 
Chr. There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, and 
everlasting life to be given us, that we may inhabit that king- 
dom for ever (Isa. xlv. 17 ; John x. 27-29). 
Pli. Well said. And what else ? 

Chr. There are crowns of glory to be given us ; and 
garments that will make us shine like the sun in the 
firmament of heaven.* 

Pli. This is very pleasant. And what else ? 
Chr. There shall be no more crying nor sorrow ; for he 
that is owner of the place will wipe all tears from our eyes 
(Isa. xxv. 8 ; Rev. vii. 16, 17 ; xxi. 4). 

Pli. And what company shall we have there ? 
Chr. There we shall be with seraphims and cherubims, 
creatures that will dazzle your eyes to look on them.f There 
also you shall meet with thousands and ten thousands 
that have gone before us to that place. None of them are 
hurtful, but loving and holy ; every one walking in the sight 

* 2 Tim. iv. 8; Rev. iii. 4; Matt. xiii. 43. 
t Isa. vi. 2; 1 Thess. iv. 16, 17; Rev. v. 11. 



TPIEIR CONVERSATION. 9 

of God, and standing in his presence with acceptance for ever. 
In a word, there we shall see the elders with their golden 
crowns (Rev. iv. 4) ; there we shall see the holy virgins with 
their golden harps (Rev. xiv. 1-5) ; there we shall see men 
that by the world were cnt in pieces, burnt in flames, eaten 
of beasts, drowned in the seas, for the love that they bare to 
the Lord of the place, all well, and clothed with immortality 
as with a garment (John xii. 25 ; 2 Cor. v. 2-4). 

Pli. The hearing of this is enongh to ravish one's heart. 
But are these things to be enjoyed ? how shall we get to be 
sharers thereof? 




--^ 




"'-"-'?- r~-f^-^;$**Z 



Che. The Lord, the governor of the country, hath recorded 
that in this book ; the substance of which is, if we be truly 
willing to have it, he will bestow it upon us freely* 

Pli. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of these 
things • come on, let us mend our pace. 

Che. I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this 
burden that is on my back. 

Now I saw in my dream that, just as they had ended this 
talk, they drew near to a very miry slough that was in the 
midst of the plain; and they being heedless did both fall 
suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was Despond. 
Here, therefore, they wallowed for a time, being grievously 
bedaubed with the dirt ; and Christian, because of the burden 
that was on his back, began to sink in the mire. 

Pli. Then said Pliable, " All ! neighbour Christian, where 
are you now ?" 

Che. " Truly," said Christian, " I do not know." 

* Isa. lv. 1, 2; John vi. 37; vii. 37; Eev. xxi. 6; xxii. 17. 



THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 



11 



Pli. At that Pliable began to be offended, and angrily said 
to his fellow, " Is this the happiness yon have told me all this 
while of ? If we have snch ill speed at our first setting out, 
what may we expect 'twixt this and onr journey's end ? May 
I get out again with my life, you shall possess the brave 
country alone for me." And with that he gave a desperate 
struggle or two, and got out of the mire on that side of the 
slough which was next to his own house : so away he went, 
and Christian saw him no more. 

Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough of 
Despond alone ; but still he endeavoured to struggle to that 
side of the slough that was farthest from his own house, and 
next to the wicket-gate : the which he did, but could not get 
out because of the burden that was upon his back. But I 
beheld, in my dream, that a man came to him whose name 
was Help, and asked him, What he 
did there ? 

Chr. "Sir," said Christian, "I 
was bid to go this way by a man 
called Evangelist, who directed me 
also to yonder gate, that I might 
escape the wrath to come ; and as 
I was going thither, I fell in here." 

Help. But why did not you look 
for the steps ? 

Chr. Fear followed me so hard, 
that I fled the next way, and fell in. 

Help. Then said he, " Give me 
thy hand." So he gave him his 
hand, and he drew him out, and set 
him upon sound ground, and bid 
him go on his way (Ps. xl. 2). 

Then I stepped to him that 
plucked him out, and said, " Sir, 
wherefore, since over this place is 
the way from the city of Destruc- 
tion to yonder gate, is it that this 
plat is not mended, that poor tra- 




12 ACCOUNT OF THE SLOUGH. 

vellers might go thither with more security?" And he 
said unto me, " This miry slough is such a place as cannot 
be mended : it is the descent whither the scum and filth 
that attends conviction for sin doth continually run ; and 
therefore it is called the Slough of Despond. For still, as the 
sinner is awakened about his lost condition, there ariseth in 
his soul many fears and doubts, and discouraging appre- 
hensions, which all of them get together, and settle in this 
place : and this is the reason of the badness of this ground. 

" It is not the pleasure of the king that this place should 
remain so bad (Isa. xxxv. 3, 4) ; his labourers also have, by 
the directions of his majesty's surveyors, been for above this 
sixteen hundred years employed about this patch of ground, 
if perhaps it might have been mended : yea, and to my 
knowledge," said he, " here have been swallowed up at least 
twenty thousand cart-loads, yea millions, of wholesome in- 
structions, that have, at all seasons, been brought from all 
places of the king's dominions (and they that can tell say 
they are the best materials to make good ground of the place), 
if so be it might have been mended ; but it is the Slough 
of Despond still, and so will be, when they have done what 
they can. 

" True, there are, by the direction of the lawgiver, certain 
good and substantial steps placed even through the very midst 
of this slough ; but at such times as this place does much 
spew out its filth, as it doth against change of weather, these 
steps are hardly seen ; or if they be, men, through the dizzi- 
ness of their heads, step 'besides, and then they are bemired 
to purpose, notwithstanding the steps be there ; but the ground 
is good when they have once got in at the gate " (1 Sam. 
xii. 23). 

Now I saw in my dream, that by this time Pliable was got 
home to his house again. So his neighbours came to visit 
him ; and some of them called him wise man for coming back ; 
and some called him fool for hazarding himself with Christian : 
others, again, did mock at his cowardliness, saying, " Surely, 
since you began to venture, I would not have been so base to 
have given out for a few difficulties : " so Pliable sat sneaking 



C-; 







among them. But at last he got more confidence ; and then 
they all turned their tales, and began to deride poor Christian 
behind his back. And thus much concerning Pliable. 

Now as Christian was walking solitarily by himself, he 
spied one afar off come crossing over the field to meet him, 
and their hap was to meet just as they were crossing the way 
of each other. The gentleman's name that met him was Mr. 
Worldly Wiseman : he dwelt in the town of Carnal Policy ; a 
very great town, and also hard by from whence Christian 
came. This man, then, meeting with Christian, and having 
some inkling of him, for Christian's setting forth from the 
city of Destruction was much noised abroad, not only in the 
town where he dwelt, but also it began to be the town-talk in 
some other places. Master Worldly Wiseman, therefore, 
having some guess of him, by beholding his laborious going, 
by observing his sighs and groans, and the like, began thus to 
enter into some talk with Christian. 

World. How now, good fellow, whither away after this 
burdened manner ? 

Chr. A burdened manner indeed, as ever, I think, poor 
creature had ! And whereas you asked me, Whither away ? 
I tell you, sir, I am going to yonder wicket-gate before me ; 



14 



WORLDLY WISEMAN MEETS CHRISTIAN, 



for tliere, as I am informed, I shall be put into a way to be 
rid of my heavy burden. 

World. Hast thou a wife and chil- 
dren? 

Chr. Yes ; but I am so laden with 
this burden, that I cannot take that 
pleasure in them as formerly : me- 
thinks I am as if I had not (1 Cor. 
vii. 29). 

World. Wilt thou hearken to me, if 
I give thee counsel ? 

Chr. If it be good, I will; for I 
stand in need of good counsel. 

World. I would advise thee, then, 
that thou with all speed get thyself rid 
of thy burden ; for thou wilt never be 
settled in thy mind till then, nor canst 
thou enjoy the benefits of the blessing 
which God hath bestowed upon thee 
till then. 
Chr. That is that which I seek for, even to be rid of this 
heavy burden ; but get it off myself I cannot ; nor is there 
any man in our country that can take it off my shoulders. 
Therefore am I going this way as I told you, that I may be 
rid of my burden. 

World. Who bid you go this way to be rid of your 
burden ? 

Chr. A man that appeared to me to be a very great and 
honourable person ; his name, as I remember, is Evangelist. 

World. Beshrew him for his counsel ! there is not a more 
dangerous and troublesome way in the world than is. that unto 
which he hath directed thee ; and that thou shalt find if thou 
wilt be ruled by his counsel. Thou hast met with something, 
as I perceive, already ; for I see the dirt of the Slough of 
Despond is upon thee ; but that slough is the beginning of 
the sorrows that do attend those that go on in that way. 
Hear me. I am older than thou ; thou art like to meet with, 
in the way which thou goest, wearisomeness, painfuhiess, 




HIS COUNSEL TO HIM. 



15 



hunger, perils, nakedness, sword, 
lions, dragons, darkness, and, in a 
word, death, and what not ! These 
things are certainly true, having 
been confirmed by many testi- 
monies. And why should a man so 
carelessly cast away himself by 
giving heed to a stranger ? 

Chr. Why, sir, this burden upon 
my back is more terrible to me 
than are all these things which you 
have mentioned : nay, methinks I 
care not what I meet with in the 
way, if so be I can also meet with 
deliverance from my burden. 

"Woeld. How earnest thou by thy 
burden at first ? 

Chr. By reading this book in my 
hand. 

World. I thought so. And it 
has happened unto thee as to other 
weak men, who, meddling with 
things too high for them, do sud- 
denly fall into thy distractions ; 
which distractions do not only un- 
man men (as thine I perceive has 
done thee), but they run them upon 
desperate ventures, to obtain they 
know not what. 

Chr. I know what I would ob- 
tain; it is ease for my heavy bur- 
den. 

World. But why wilt thou seek 
for ease this way, seeing so many 
dangers attend it ? Especially 
since, hadst thou but patience to 
hear me, I could direct thee to the 
obtaining of what thou desirest 




16 THEIR FURTHER CONVERSATION. 

without the dangers that thou, in this way, wilt ran thyself 
into. Tea, and the remedy is at hand. Besides, I will add, 
that instead of those dangers, thou shalt meet with much 
safety, friendship, and content. 

Chr. Sir, I pray, open this secret to me. 

World. Why, in yonder village (the village is named Mo- 
rality) there dwells a gentleman whose name is Legality, a 
very judicious man, and a man of a very good name, that has 
skill to help men off with such burdens as thine are from 
their shoulders ; yea, to my knowledge, he hath done a great 
deal of good this way : ay, and besides, he hath skill to cure 
those that are somewhat crazed in their wits with their bur- 
dens. To him, as I said, thou may est go, and be helped 
presently. His house is not quite a mile from this place ; and 
if he should not be at home himself, he hath a pretty young 
man to his son, whose name is Civility, that can do it (to 
speak on) as well as the old gentleman himself. There, I say, 
thou mayest be eased of thy burden ; and if thou art not 
minded to go back to thy former habitation, as indeed I 
would not wish thee, thou mayest send for thy wife and chil- 
dren to thee to this village, where there are houses now stand 
empty, one of which thou mayest have at reasonable rates : 
provision is there also cheap and good ; and that which will 
make thy life the more happy is, to be sure there thou shalt 
live by honest neighbours, in credit and good fashion. 

Now was Christian somewhat at a stand ; but presently he 
concluded, " If this be true which this gentleman hath said, 
my wisest course is to take his advice j" and with that he 
thus further spoke. 

Chr. Sir, which is my way to this honest man's house ? 

World. Do you see yonder high hill ? (Mount Sinai.) 

Chr. Yes, very well. 

World. By that hill you must go, and the first house you 
come at is his. 

So Christian turned out of his way to go to Mr. Legality's 
house for help. But, behold, when he was got now hard by 
the hill, it seemed so high, and also that side of it that was 
next the wayside did hang so much over, that Christian was 




.' i 




afraid to venture 4 farther, lest the hill should fall on his head; 
wherefore there he stood still, and wotted not what to do. 
Also his burden now seemed heavier to him than while he was 
in his way. There came also flashes of fire out of the hill, that 
made Christian afraid that he should be burned (Exod. xix. 
16-18) : here, therefore, he sweat and did quake for fear (Heb. 
xii. 21). And now he began to be sorry that he had taken Mr. 
Worldly Wiseman's counsel. And with that he saw Evangelist 
coming to meet him ; at the sight also of whom he began to 
blush for shame. So Evangelist drew nearer and nearer ; and 
coming up to him, he looked upon him with a severe and 
dreadful countenance, and thus began to reason with Christian. 

D 



18 CHRISTIAN IS MET BY EVANGELIST. 

Evan. "What dost thou here, Christian?" said he. At 
which words Christian knew not what to answer ; wherefore 
at present he stood speechless before him. Then said Evan- 
gelist further, " Art not thou the man that I found crying 
without the walls of the city of Destruction ? " 
Chr. Yes, dear sir, I am the man. 

Evan. Did not I direct thee the way to the little Wicket- 
gate ? 

Chr. "Yes, dear sir," said Christian. 

Evan. How is it, then, that thou art so quickly turned 
aside ? for thou art now out of the way. 

Chr. I met with a gentleman, so soon as I had got over the 
Slough of Despond, who persuaded me that I might, in the 
village before me, find a man that could take off my burden. 
Evan. What was he ? 

Chr. He looked like a gentleman, and talked much to me, 
and got me at last to yield; so I came hither: but when I 
beheld this hill, and how it hangs over the way, I suddenly 
made a stand, lest it should fall on my head. 
Evan. What said that gentleman to you ? 
Chr, Why, he asked me whither I was going ; and I told him. 
Evan. And what said he then? 

Chr. He asked me if I had a family; and I told him. 
But, said I, I am so loaden with the burden that is on my 
back, that I cannot take pleasure in them as formerly. 
Evan. And what said he then ? 

Chr. He bid me with speed get rid of my burden ; and I 
told him it was ease that I sought. And, said I, I am there- 
fore going to yonder gate to receive further direction how I 
may get to the place of deliverance. So he said that he 
would show me a better way, and short, not so attended with 
difficulties as the way, sir, that you set me in ; which way, 
said he, will direct you to a gentleman's house that has skill 
to take off these burdens. So I believed him, and turned out 
of that way into this, if haply I might be soon eased of my 
burden. But when I came to this place, and beheld things as 
they are, I stopped for fear, as I said, of danger. But I now 
know not what to do. 



CHRISTIAN CONVINCED OF HIS ERROR. 



19 



Evan. Then said Evangelist, " Stand still a little, that I 
may shew thee the words of God." So he stood trembling. 
Then said Evangelist, " See that ye refuse not him that 
speaketh. For if they escaped not who refused him that 
spake on earth, much more shall not we escape, if we turn 
away from him that speaketh from heaven " (Heb. xii. 25). 
He said, moreover, " Now the just shall live by faith : but if 
any man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him " 
(Heb. x. 38). He also did thus apply them : " Thou art the 
man that art running into this misery ; thou hast begun to 
reject the counsel of the Most High, and to draw back thy 
foot from the way of peace, even almost to the hazarding of 
thy perdition." 

Then Christian fell down at his foot as dead, crying, " Wo 
is me, for I am undone ! " At the sight of which Evangelist 
caught him by the right hand, saying, " All manner of sin 
and blasphemies shall be forgiven unto men : be not faithless, 




20 THE FALLACIES OF WORLDLY WISEMAN DETECTED. 

but believing " (Matt. xii. 31 ; John xx. 27). Then did Chris- 
tian again a little revive, and stood up trembling, as at first, 
before Evangelist. 

Then Evangelist proceeded, saying, " Give more earnest 
heed to the things that I shall tell thee of. I will now shew 
thee who it was that deluded thee, and who it was also to 
whom he sent thee. The man that met thee is one Worldly 
Wiseman : and rightly is he so called ; partly because he 
savoureth only the doctrine of this world (1 John iv. 5) 
(therefore he always goes to the town of Morality to church), 
and partly because he loveth that doctrine best, for it saveth 
him from the cross (Gal. vi. 12) ; and because he is of this 
carnal temper, therefore he seeketh to pervert my ways, 
though right. Now there are three things in this man's 
counsel that thou must utterly abhor : 

" 1. His turning thee out of the way. 

"2. His labouring to render the cross odious to thee. 

"3. And his setting thy feet in that way that leadeth unto 
the administration of death. 

" First, thou must abhor his turning thee out of the way, 
yea, and thine own consenting thereto ; because this is to 
reject the counsel of God for the sake of the counsel of a 
Worldly Wiseman. The Lord says, ' Strive to enter in at the 
strait gate ' (Luke xiii. 24), — the gate to which I sent thee ; 
1 for strait is " the gate that leadeth unto life, and few 
there be that find it ' (Matt. vii. 13, 14). From this little 
Wicket-gate, and from the way thereto, hath this wicked man 
turned thee, to the bringing of thee almost to destruction. 
Hate, therefore, his turning thee out of the way, and abhor 
thyself for hearkening to him. 

" Secondly, thou must abhor his labouring to render the cross 
odious unto thee ; for thou art to prefer it before the treasures 
in Egypt (Heb. xi. 26) : besides, the King of Glory hath told 
thee, that he that will save his life shall lose it ; and, he that 
comes after him, and hates not his father, and mother, and 
wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own 
life also, he cannot be my disciple.* I say, therefore, for man 

* Matt. x. 39 ; Mark viii. 35 ; Luke xiv, 26 ; John xii. 25. 



THE PBETENSIONS OF LEGALITY CONFUTED. 



21 



to labour to persuade thee that that shall be thy death, with- 
out which the Truth hath said thou canst not have eternal 
life, this doctrine thou must abhor. 

" Thirdly, thou must hate his setting of thy feet in the way 
that leadeth to the ministration of death. And for this thou 
must consider to whom he sent thee, and also how unable that 
person was to deliver thee from thy burden. 

" He to whom thou wast sent for ease, being by name Le- 
gality, is the son of the bondwoman which now is, and is in 
bondage with her children (GaL iv. 22-27) ; and is, in a 
mystery, this Mount Sinai which thou hast feared will fall 
on thy head. Now if she with her children are in bondage, 
how canst thou expect by them to be made free ? This Legality, 
therefore, is not able to set thee free from thy burden. No man 
was as yet ever rid of his burden by him ; no, nor ever is like 
to be. Ye cannot be justified by the works of the law ; for by 
the deeds of the law no man living can be rid of his burden. 
Therefore Mr. Worldly Wiseman is an alien, and Mr. Legality 
is a cheat ; and for his son Civility, notwithstanding his 
simpering looks, he is but an hypocrite, and cannot help thee. 
Believe me, there is nothing in all this noise that thou hast 
heard of these sottish men, but a design to beguile thee of 
thy salvation, by turning thee from the way in which I 
had set thee." After this Evange* 
list called aloud to the heavens 
for confirmation of what he had 
said, and with that there came 
words and fire out of the moun- 
tain under which poor Christian 
stood, that made the hair of his 
flesh stand up. The words were 
thus pronounced : " As many as 
are of the works of the law are 
under the curse : for it is written, 
Cursed is every one that con^ 
tinueth not in all things which 
are written in the book of the 
law to do them " (Gal. iii. 10.) 




22 CHRISTIAN AT THE WICKET- GATE. 

Now Christian looked for nothing but death, and began to 
cry out lamentably ; even cursing the time in which he met 
with Mr. Worldly Wiseman, still calling himself a thousand 
fools for hearkening to his counsel. He also was greatly 
ashamed to think that this gentleman's arguments, flowing 
only from the flesh, should have that prevalency with him as 
to cause him to forsake the right way. This done he applied 
himself again to Evangelist, in words and sense as follows : 

Chr. Sir, what think you ? Is there hopes ? May I now 
go back, and go up to the Wicket-gate ? Shall I not be 
abandoned for this, and sent back from thence ashamed ? I 
am sorry I have hearkened to this man's counsel ; but may 
my sin be forgiven ? 

Evan. Then said Evangelist to him, " Thy sin is very great, 
for by it thou has committed two evils ; thou hast forsaken 
the way that is good, to tread in forbidden paths ; yet will the 
man at the gate receive thee, for he has good will for men ; 
only," said he, " take heed that thou turn not aside again, lest 
thou perish from the way when his wrath is kindled but a 
little" (Ps. ii. 12). Then did Christian address himself to go 
back ; and Evangelist, after he had kissed him, gave him one 
smile, and bid him God speed. So he went on with haste, 
neither spake he to any man by the way ; nor, if any asked 
him, would he vouchsafe them an answer. He went like one 
that was all the while treading on forbidden ground, and could 
by no means think himself safe, till again he was got into the 
way which he left to follow Mr. Worldly Wiseman's counsel. 
So, in process of time, Christian got up to the gate. Now, 
over the gate there was written, " Knock, and it shall be 
opened unto you" (Matt. vii. 7). He knocked, therefore, 
more than once or twice, saying — 

" May I now enter here ? Will he within 
Open to sorry me, though I have been 
An undeserving rebel ? Then shall I 
Not fail to sing his lasting praise on high." 

At last there came a grave person to the gate, named Good- 
will, who asked who was there ? and whence he came ? and 
what he would have ? 




Che. Here is a poor burdened sinner. 
I come from the city of Destrnction, but 
am going to Mount Zion, that I may be 
delivered from the wrath to come. I 
would, therefore, sir, since I am informed that 
by this gate is the way thither, know if you 
are willing to let me in. 

Goodwill. " I am willing, with all my heart," 
said he. And with that he opened the gate. 

So when Christian was stepping in, the other 
gave him a pull. Then said Christian, " What 
means that?" The other told him, "A little 
distance from this gate there is erected a strong 
castle, of which Beelzebub is the captain ; from 



T*> 



24 GOODWILL DISCOURSES WITH CHRISTIAN. 

thence both he and them that are with him shoot arrows at 
those that come up to this gate, if haply they may die before 
they can enter in." Then said Christian, " I rejoice and 
tremble." So when he was got in, the man of the gate asked 
him who directed him thither. 

Chr. Evangelist bid me come hither and knock, as I did ; 
and he said that yon, sir, would tell me what I must do. 

Goodw. An open door is before thee, and no man can 
shut it. 

Chr. Now I begin to reap the benefits of my hazards. 

Goodw. But how is it that you came alone ? 

Chr. Because none of my neighbours saw their danger as I 
saw mine. 

Goodw. Did any of them know of your coming ? 

Chr. Yes, my wife and children saw me at the first, and 
called after me to turn again ; also some of my neighbours 
stood crying and calling after me to return ; but I put my 
fingers in my ears, and so came on my way. 

Goodw. But did none of them follow you, to persuade you 
to go back ? 

Chr. Yes, both Obstinate and Pliable; but 'when they saw 
that they could not prevail, Obstinate went railing back, but 
Pliable came with me a little way. 

Goodw. But why did he not come through ? 

Chr. We indeed came both together until we came at the 
Slough of Despond, into the which we also suddenly fell. 
And then was my neighbour Pliable discouraged, and would 
not adventure farther. Wherefore, getting out again on that 
side next to his own house, he told me I should possess the 
brave country alone for him : so he went his way, and I came 
mine ; he after Obstinate, and I to this gate. 

Goodw. Then said Goodwill, " Alas, poor man ! is the 
celestial glory of so small esteem with him, that he counteth 
it not worth running the hazard of a few difficulties to 
obtain it? " 

Chr. " Truly," said Christian, " I have said the truth of 
Pliable ; and if I should also say all the truth of myself, it 
will appear there is no betterment 'twixt him and myself. 



CHEISTIAN INSTEUCTED IN THE WAT. 25 

'Tis true lie went back to his own house, but I also turned 
aside to go in the way of death, being persuaded thereto by 
the carnal arguments of one Mr. Worldly Wiseman." 

GrOODW. Oh! did he light upon you? What, he would 
have had you have sought for ease at the hands of Mr. 
Legality ! they are both of them a very cheat. But did you 
take his counsel ? 

Che,. Yes, as far as I durst. I went to find out Mr. 
Legality, until I thought that the mountain that stands by 
his house would have fallen upon my head ; wherefore there 
I was forced to stop. 

Goodw. That mountain has been the death of many, and 
will be the death of many more : 'tis well you escaped being 
by it dashed in pieces. 

Che. Why truly I do not know what had become of me 
there, had not Evangelist happily met me again as I was 
musing in the midst of my dumps ; but 'twas God's mercy 
that he came to me again, for else I had never come hither. 
But now I am come, such a one as I am, more fit indeed for 
death by that mountain, than thus to stand talking with my 
Lord. But, oh ! what a favour is this to me, that yet I am 
admitted entrance here. 

Goodw. We make no objections against any ; notwithstand- 
ing all that they have done before they come hither, they in 
no wise are cast out (John vi. 37) ; and, therefore, good 
Christian, come a little way with me, and I will teach thee 
about the way thou must go. Look before thee ; dost thou 
see this narrow way ? that is the way thou must go. It was 
cast up by the patriarchs, prophets, Christ and his apostles, 
and it is as straight as a rule can make it : this is the way 
thou must go. 

Che. " But," said Christian, " is there no turnings nor 
windings, by which a stranger may lose his way ? " 

Goodw. Yes, there are many ways butt down upon this, 
and they are crooked and wide ; but thus thou mayest dis- 
tinguish the right from the wrong, the right only being 
straight and narrow (Matt. vii. 14). 

Then I saw in my dream that Christian asked him further, 



23 



THE INTERPRETER S HOUSE. 




if he could not help Lira off with 
his burden that was upon his back ; 
for as yet he had not got rid thereof, 
nor could he by any means get it 
off without help. 

He told him, "As to thy burden, 
be content to bear it until thou 
comest to the place of deliverance ; 
for there it will fall from thy back 
of itself." 

Then Christian began to gird up 
his loins, and to address himself 
to his journey. So the other told 
him that by that he was gone some 
distance from the gate, he would 
come at the house of the Interpreter, 
at whose door he should knock, and 
he would shew him excellent things. 
Then Christian took his leave of his 
friend, and he again bid him God 
speed. 



Then he went on till he came at 
the house of the Interpreter, where 
he knocked over and over : at last 
one came to the door, and asked 
who was there ? 

Chr. Sir, here is a traveller, who 
was bid by an acquaintance of the 
good man of the house to call here 
for my profit ; I would therefore 
speak with the master of the hous3. 
— So he called for the master of the 
house, who, after a little time, came 
to Christian, and asked him what 
he would have ? 

Chr. " Sir," said Christian, " I 
am a man that am come from the 
city of Destruction, and am going 




THE PICTURE OF THE PILGRIM S GUIDE. 



27 



to the Mount Zion ; and I was told 
by the man that stands at the gate 
at the head of this way, that if I 
called here you would shew .me 
excellent things, such as would be 
an help to me in my journey." 

Interpreter. Then said the In- 
terpreter, " Come in ; I will shew 
thee that which will be profitable to 
thee." So he commanded his man 
to light the candle, and bid Chris- 
tian follow him ; so he had him into 
a private room, and bid his man 
open a door ; the which when he 
had done, Christian saw the picture 
of a very grave person hang up 
against the wall ; and this was the 
fashion of it : it had eyes lifted up 
to heaven, the best of books in his 
hand, the law of truth was written 
upon his lips, the world was behind 
his back ; it stood as if it pleaded 
with men, and a crown of gold did 
hang over its head. 

Chr. Then said Christian, "What 
meaneth this ? " 

Interp. The man whose picture 
this is, is one of a thousand ; he can 
beget children (1 Cor. iv. 15), tra- 
vail in birth with children (Gal. iv. 
19), and nurse them himself when 
they are born. And whereas thou seest him with his eyes 
lift up to heaven, the best of books in his hand, and the 
law of truth writ on his lips ; it is to shew thee that his 
work is to know and unfold dark things to sinners ; even as 
also thou seest him stand as if he pleaded with men : and 
whereas thou seest the world as cast behind him, and that 
a crown hangs over his head ; that is to shew thee, that, 






spising the tilings 

that are present, 

for the love that 

he hath to his 

Master's service, 

he is sure in the 

world that conies 
next to have glory for his reward. Now, said the Inter- 
preter, I have shewed thee this picture first, because the 
man whose picture this is, is the only man whom the Lord 
of the place whither thou art going hath authorised to be 
thy guide in all difficult places thou mayest meet with in 
the way « wherefore, take good heed to what I have shewed 
thee, and bear well in thy mind what thou hast seen, lest in 
thy journey thou meet with some that pretend to lead thee 
right, but their way goes down to death. 

Then he took him by the hand, and led him into a very 
large parlour that was full of dust, because never swept ; the 
which, after he had reviewed a little while, the Interpreter 
called for a man to sweep. Now, when he began to sweep, 
the dust began so abundantly to fly about, that Christian had 
almost therewith been choked. Then said the Interpreter to 
a damsel that stood by, " Bring hither the water and sprinkle 
the room;" the which when she had done, it was swept and 
cleansed with pleasure. 

Che. Then said Christian, " What means this ? " 
Interp. The Interpreter answered, "This parlour is the 
heart of a man that was never sanctified by the sweet grace 
of the gospel : the dust is his original sin and inward cor- 
ruptions, that have defiled the whole man. He that began to 



PASSION AND PATIENCE. 



29 



sweep at first is the law; but she that brought water, and 
did sprinkle it, is the gospel. Now, whereas thou sawest 
that, so soon as the first began to sweep, the dust did so 
fly about, that the room by him could not be cleansed, but 
that thou wast almost choked therewith : this is to shew thee, 
that the law, instead of cleansing the heart, by its working, 
from sin, doth revive, put strength into, and increase it 
in the soul, even as it doth discover and forbid it; for it 
doth not give power to subdue (Rom. v. 20 ; vii. 9 ; 1 Cor. 
xv. 56). 

" Again, as thou sawest the damsel sprinkle the room with 
water, upon which it was cleansed with pleasure, this is to 
shew thee, that when the gospel comes in the sweet and pre- 
cious influences thereof to the heart, then, I say, even as thou 
sawest the damsel lay the dust by sprinkling the floor with 
water, so is sin vanquished and subdued, and the soul made 
clean through the faith of it, and consequently fit for the 
king of glory to inhabit."* 

I saw, moreover, in my dream, that the Interpreter took 
him by the hand, and had him into a little room, where sat 
two little children, each one in his chair. The name of the 
eldest was Passion, and the name of the other, Patience. 
Passion seemed to be much discontented, but Patience was 
very quiet. Then Christian asked, " What is the reason of 
the discontent of Pas- 
sion ? " The Interpreter 
answered, " The gover- 
nor of them would have 
him stay for his best 
things till the begin- 
ning of the next year ; 
but he will have all now. 
But Patience is willing 
to wait." 

Then I saw that one 
came to Passion and 





John xv. 3 ; Acts xv. 9 ; Horn. xvi. 25, 26 ; Eph. v. 26. 



30 THE EMBLEM EXPLAINED. 

brought him a bag of treasure, and poured it down at his feet : 
the which he took up and rejoiced therein, and withal laughed 
Patience to scorn. But I beheld but a while, and he had 
lavished all away, and had nothing left him but rags. 

Chr. Then said Christian to the Interpreter, "Expound 
this matter more fully to me." 

Interp. So he said, " These two lads are figures : Passion, 
of the men of this world ; and Patience, of the men of that 
which is to come. For as here thou seest Passion will have all 
now this year, that is to say, in this world ; so are the men 
of this world : they must have all their good things now ; 
they cannot stay till next year, that is, until the next world, 
for their portion of good. That proverb, ' A bird in the hand 
is worth two in the bush,' is of more authority with them 
than are all the divine testimonies of the good of the world 
to come. But as thou sawest that he had quickly lavished all 
away, and had presently left him nothing but rags ; so will it 
be with all such men at the end of this world." 

Chr. Then said Christian, " Now I see that Patience has 
the best wisdom, and that upon many accounts : 1. because 
he stays for the best things ; 2. and also because he will have 
the glory of his, when the other hath nothing but rags." 

Interp. Nay, you may add another, to wit, the glory of the 
next world will never wear out ; but these are suddenly gone. 
Therefore Passion had not so much reason to laugh at 
Patience, because he had his good things first, as Patience 
will have to laugh at Passion, because he had his best things 
last ; for first must give place to last, because last must have 
his time to come ; but last gives place to nothing, for there is 
not another to succeed : he, therefore, that hath his portion 
first must needs have a time to spend it ; but he that has his 
portion last must have it lastingly. Therefore it is said of 
Dives, " In thy life-time thou receivedst thy good things, and 
likewise Lazarus evil things ; but now he is comforted, and 
thou art tormented " (Luke xvi). 

Chr. Then I perceive 'tis not best to covet things that are 
now, but to wait for things to come. 

Interp. Tou say truth : " For the things that are seen are 




temporal ; but the things that are not seen are eternal " (2 
Cor. iv. 18). But, though this be so, yet, since things present 
and our fleshly appetite are such near neighbours one to 
another ; and again, because things to come and carnal sense 
are such strangers one to another ; therefore it is that the 
first of these so suddenly fall into amity, and that distance is 
so continually between the second. 

Then I saw in my dream that the Interpreter took Chris- 
tian by the hand, and led him into a place where was a fire 
burning against a wall, and one standing by it always casting 



32 THE PALACE. 

much water upon it to quench, it ; yet did the fire burn higher 
and hotter. 

Chr. Then said Christian, "What means this?" 
Interp. The Interpreter answered, " This fire is the work 
of grace that is wrought in the heart ; he that casts water 
upon it to extinguish and put it out, is the devil : but in that 
thou seest the fire notwithstanding burn higher and hotter, 
thou shalt also see the reason of that." So he had him about 
to the backside of the wall, where he saw a man with a vessel 
of oil in his hand, of the which he did also continually cast, 
but secretly, into the fire. 

Chr. Then said Christian, "What means this?" 
Interp. The Interpreter answered, "This is Christ, who con- 
tinually with the oil of his grace maintains the work already 
begun in the heart : by the means of which, notwithstanding 
what the devil can do, the souls of his people prove gracious 
still (2 Cor. xii. 9). And in that thou sawest that the man 
stood behind the wall to maintain the fire ; this is to teach 
thee, that it is hard for the tempted to see how this work of 
grace is maintained in the soul." 

I saw also that the Interpreter took him again by the hand, 
and led him into a pleasant place, where was builded a 
stately palace, beautiful to behold; at the sight of which 
Christian was greatly delighted: he saw also upon the top 
thereof certain persons walking, who were clothed all in gold. 
Chr. Then said Christian, " May we go in thither ? " 
Then the Interpreter took him and led him up toward the 
door of the palace ; and, behold, at the door stood a great 
company of men, as desirous to go in, but durst not. There 





also sat a man at a little distance from the door, at a table- 
side, with a book and his ink-horn before him, to take the 
name of him that should enter therein : he saw also that in 
the doorway stood many men in armour, to keep it, being 
resolved to do to the men that would enter what hurt and 
mischief they could. Now was Christian somewhat in amaze : 
at last, when every man started back, for fear of the armed 
men, Christian saw a man of a very stout countenance come 
up to the man that sat there to write, saying, "Set down my 
name, sir:" the which when he had done, he saw the man 
draw his sword, and put an helmet upon his head, and rush 
toward the door upon the armed men, who laid upon him 
with deadly force ; but the man, not at all discouraged, fell 
to cutting and hacking most fiercely. So, after he had 

F 



34 CHRISTIAN AND THE MAN IN THE IRON CAGE. 

received and given many wounds to those that attempted to 
keep him ont, he cut his way throngh them all, and pressed 
forward into the palace (Acts xiv. 22) ; at which there was a 
pleasant voice heard from those that were within, even of 
those that walked upon the top of the palace, saying, 

" Come in, come in ; 
Eternal glory thou shalt win." 

So he went in, and was clothed with snch garments as they. 
Then Christian smiled, and said, " I think, verily, I know the 
meaning of this." 

" Now," said Christian, " let me go hence." 

" Nay, stay," said the Interpreter, "till I have shewed thee 
a little more, and after that thon shalt go on thy way." So 
he took him by the hand again, and led him into a very dark 
room, where there sat a man in an iron cage. 

Now, the man, to look on, seemed very sad. He sat with 
his eyes looking down to the gronnd, his hands folded to- 
gether, and he sighed as if he wonld break his heart. Then 
said Christian, "What means this?" At which the Inter- 
preter bid him talk with the man. 

Chr. Then said Christian to the man, "What art thon?" 

Man. The man answered, " I am what I was not once." 

Chr. What wast thon once ? 






\% 











Man. The man said, *' I was once 
a fair and flourishing professor, both 
in mine own eyes and also in the 
eyes of others : I once was, as I 
thonght, fair for the Celestial City, 
and had then even joy at the 
thoughts that I should get thither " 
(Lu. viii. 13). 

Chr. Well, but what art thou now ? 

Man. I am now a man of despair, and am shut up in it, 
in this iron cage. I cannot get out ; oh, now I cannot. 



36 CHRISTIAN AND THE MAN IN THE IRON CAGE. 

Chr. But now earnest thou in this condition ? 
Man. I left off to watch and be sober ; I laid the reins upon 
the neck of my lusts ; I sinned against the light of the word, 
and the goodness of God ; I have grieved the Spirit, and he 
is gone ; I tempted the devil, and he is to come to me ; I 
have provoked God to anger, and he has left me ; I have 
so hardened my heart, that I cannot repent. 

Then said Christian to the Interpreter, " But is there no 
hopes for such a man as this?" "Ask him," said the 
Interpreter. 

Chr. Then said Christian, " Is there no hope, but you must 
be kept in the iron cage of despair ?" 
Man. No, none at all ! 

Chr. Why ? the Son of the Blessed is very pitiful. 
Man. I have crucified him to myself afresh (Heb. vi. 6), I 
have despised his person (Lu. xix. 14), I have despised his 
righteousness, I have counted his blood an unholy thing, I 
have done despite to the Spirit of grace (Heb. x. 26-29) : 
therefore I have shut myself out of all the promises, and 
there now remains to me nothing but threatenings, dreadful 
threatenings, fearful threatenings of certain judgment and 
fiery indignation, which shall devour me as an adversary. 
Chr. For what did you bring yourself into this condition ? 
Man. For the lusts, pleasures, and profits of this world ; in 
the enjoyment of which I did then promise myself much 
delight : but now every one of those things also bite me and 
gnaw me like a burning worm. 

Chr. But canst thou not now repent and turn ? 
Man. God hath denied me repentance. His word gives me 
no encouragement to believe : yea, himself hath shut me up 
in this iron cage ; nor can all the men in the world let me out. 
O eternity ! eternity ! how shall I grapple with the misery 
that I must meet with in eternity ! 

Interp. Then said the Interpreter to Christian, " Let this 
man's misery be remembered by thee, and be an everlasting 
caution to thee." 

Chr. "Well," said Christian, "this is fearful! God help 
me to watch and be sober, and to pray that I may shun the 



^#\\\\ Z'^Xv, 




cause of this man's misery. Sir, is it 
not time for me to go on my way 
now? " 

Inteep. Tarry till I shall show thee 
one thing more, and then thou shalt 
go on thy way. 

So he took Christian by the hand 
again, and led him into a chamber 
where there was one rising out of 
bed ; and as he put on his raiment 
he shook and trembled. Then said 
Christian, " Why doth this man thus 



io. 



,. x 9 



\ \ 



f/A 




JJ 



38 A DREAM CONCERNING THE DAT OF JUDGMENT. 

tremble?" The Interpreter then bid him tell to Christian 
the reason of his so doing. So he began and said, "This 
night as I was in my sleep, I dreamed; and behold, the 
heavens grew exceeding black ; also it thundered and 
lightened in most fearful wise, that it put me into an 
agony. So I looked up in my dream, and saw the clouds 
rack at an unusual rate ; upon which I heard a great sound 
of a trumpet, and saw also a man sit upon a cloud, attended 
with the thousands of heaven ; they were all in naming fire, 
also the heavens were on a burning flame. I heard then 
a voice, saying, 'Arise, ye dead, and come to judgment;' 
and with that the rocks rent, the graves opened, and the 
dead that were therein came forth : # some of them were 
exceeding glad, and looked upward ; and some sought to 
hide themselves under the mountains : then I saw the man 
that sat upon the cloud open the book and bid the world 
draw near.f Yet there was, by reason of a fierce flame that 
issued out and came before him, a convenient distance betwixt 
him and them, as betwixt the judge and the prisoners at the 
bar (Dan. vii. 9, 10 ; Mai. iii. 2, 3). I heard it also pro- 
claimed to them that attended on the man that sat on the 
cloud, ' Gather together the tares, the chaff, and stubble, and 
cast them into the burning lake ' (Matt. iii. 12 ; xiii. 30 ; 
Mai. iv. 1) : and with that the bottomless pit opened just 
whereabout I stood ; out of the mouth of which there came, 
in an abundant manner, smoke, and coals of fire, with hideous 
noises. It was also said to the same persons, ' Gather my 
wheat into the garner' (Lu. iii. 17). And with that I saw 
many catched up and carried away into the clouds (1 Thess. 
iv. 16, 17) ; but I was left behind. I also sought to hide my- 
self, but I could not, for the man that sat upon the cloud still 
kept his eye upon me : my sins also came into my mind, and 
my conscience did accuse me on every side (Rom. ii. 14, 15). 
Upon this I awaked from my sleep." 

Chr. But what was it that made you so afraid of this 
sight ? 

* 1 Cor. xv.; 1 Thess. iv.; Jude, 15; 2 Thess. i. 8; John v. 28; Kev. xx. 
11-14. f Ps. i. 1-3; Isa. xxvi. 21 ; Mic. vii. 16, 17. 



CHRISTIAN CONTINUES HIS JOURNEY. 



39 



Man. Why, I thought that the day of judgment was come, 
and that I was not ready for it : but this frighted me most, 
that the angels gathered up several, and left me behind ; also 
the pit of hell opened her mouth just where I stood. My 
conscience, too, afflicted me ; and, as I thought, the Judge 
had always his eye upon me, shewing indignation in his coun- 
tenance. 

Then said the Interpreter to Christian, " Hast thou consi- 
dered all these things ? " 

Chr. Yes ; and they put me in hope and fear. 

Interp. Well, keep all things so in thy mind that they may 
be as a goad in thy sides, to prick thee forward in the way 
thou must go. — Then Christian began to gird up his loins, 




40 christian's burden falls off at the ceoss. 

and to address himself to his journey. Then said the Inter- 
preter, " The Comforter be always with thee, good Christian, 
to guide thee in the way that leads to the city." 
So Christian went on his way, saying — 

' ' Here I have seen things rare and profitable ; 
Things pleasant, dreadful, things to make me stable 
In what I have begun to take in hand : 
Then let me think on them, and understand 
"Wherefore they shew'd me were ; and let me be 
Thankful, good Interpreter, to thee." 

Now I saw in my dream, that the highway up which Chris- 
tian was to go was fenced on either side with a wall, and that 
wall was called Salvation (Isa. xxvi. 1). Up this way, there- 
fore, did burdened Christian run, but not without great diffi- 
culty, because of the load on his back. 

He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascending, 
and upon that place stood a Cross, and a little below, in the 
bottom, a Sepulchre. So I saw in my dream, that just as 
Christian came up with the cross, his burden loosed from off 
his shoulders, and fell from off his back, and began to tumble, 
and so continued to do till it came to the mouth of the 
sepulchre, where it fell in, and I saw it no more. 

Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said, with a 
merry heart, " He hath given me rest by his sorrow, and life 
by his death." Then he stood still awhile to look and wonder ; 
for it was very surprising to him, that the sight of the cross 
should thus ease him of his burden. He looked, therefore, 
and looked again, even till the springs that were in his head 
sent the waters down his cheeks (Zech. xii. 10). Now, as he 
stood looking and weeping, behold three shining ones came to 
him, and saluted him with "Peace be to thee:" so the first 
said to him, " Thy sins be forgiven thee " (Mark ii. 5) ; the 
second stripped him of his rags, and clothed him with change 
of raiment ; the third also set a mark in his forehead, and 
gave him a roll with a seal upon it (Zech. iii. 4 ; Eph. i. 13), 
which he bid him look on as he ran, and that he should give 
it in at the celestial gate ; so they went their way. Then 
Christian gave three leaps for joy, and went on singing: 




Thus far did I come laden with my sin, 
Nor could aught ease the grief that I was in, 
Till I came hither : what a place is this ! 
Must here be the beginning of my bliss ? 



42 SIMPLE, SLOTH, AND PRESUMPTION. 

Must here the burden fall from off my hack ? 
Must here the strings that bound it to me crack ? 
Blest cross ! blest sepulchre ! blest rather be 
The Man that there was put to shame for me !" 

I saw then in. my dream, that lie went on tlms even nntil 
he came at a bottom, where he saw, a little ont of the way, 
three men fast asleep, with fetters npon their heels. The name 
of the one was Simple, another Sloth, and the third Presump- 
tion. 




Christian then seeing them lie in this case, went to them, 
if peradventure he might awake them, and cried, " Ton are 
like them that sleep on the top of a mast, for the Dead Sea 
is under you, a gulf that hath no bottom (Prov. xxiii. 34). 
Awake, therefore, and come away ; be willing also, and I will 
help you off with your irons." He also told them, "If he 
that goeth about like a roaring lion comes by, you will certainly 
become a prey to his teeth " (1 Pet. v. 8). With that they 
looked upon him, and began to reply in this sort : Simple 
said, " I see no danger." Sloth said, " Yet a little more 
sleep." And Presumption said, " Every fat must stand upon 
his own bottom." And so they lay down to sleep again, and 
Christian went on his way. 

Yet was he troubled to think, that men in that danger 
should so little esteem the kindness of him that so freely 
offered to help them ; both by awakening of them, counselling 



FOKMALIST AND HYPOCRISY. 



43 



of them, and proffering to help 
them off with their irons. And 
as he was troubled thereabout, he 
espied two men come tumbling 
over the wall, on the left hand of 
the narrow way, and they made up 
apace to him. The name of the 
one was Formalist, and the name 
of the other Hypocrisy. So, as I 
said, they -drew up unto him, who 
thus entered with them into dis- 
course. 

Chr. Gentlemen, whence came 
you, and whither do you go ? 

Form, and Hyp. We were born 
in the land of Yain-glory, and are 
going for praise to Mount Sion. 

Chr. Why came you not in at 
the gate which standeth at the 
beginning of the way ? Know you 
not that it is written, that he that 
cometh not in by the door, but 
climbeth up some other way, the 
same is a thief and a robber (John 
x. 1) ? 

Form, and Hyp. They said, that 
to go to the gate for entrance was 
by all their countrymen counted 
too far about, and that there- 
fore their usual way was to make 
a short cut of it, and to climb 
over the wall, as they had done. 

Chr. But will it not be counted a trespass against the lord 
of the city whither we are bound, thus to violate his revealed 
will? 

Form, and Hyp. They told him that, as for that, he needed 
not to trouble his head thereabout ; for what they did they 
had custom for, and could produce, if need were, testimony 




u 



CHRISTIAN REASONS WITH THEM. 




that would witness it, for more 
than a thousand years. 

Chr. "But," said Christian, 
"will your practice stand a trial 
at law?" 

Form, and Hyp. They told him, 

that custom, it being of so long a 

standing as above a thousand years, 

would doubtless now be admitted 

a thing legal by any impartial 

judge. And besides, said they, so 

be we get into the way, what's 

matter which way we get in ? If we 

are in, we are in : thou art but in 

the way, who, as we perceive, came 

in at the gate ; and we are also in the way, that came 

tumbling over the wall. Wherein now is thy condition 

better than ours? 

Chr. I walk by the rule of my master ; you walk by the 
rude working of your fancies. You are counted thieves 
already by the lord of the way, therefore I doubt you will not 
be found true men at the end of the way. You come in by 
yourselves without his direction, and shall go out by your- 
selves without his mercy. 

To this they made him but little answer, only they bid him 
look to himself. Then I saw that they went on every man in 
his way, without much conference one with another, save that 
these two men told Christian, That as to laws and ordinances, 
they doubted not but they should as conscientiously do them 
as he. " Therefore," said they, " we see not wherein thou 
differest from us, but by the coat that is on thy back, which 
was, as we trow, given thee by some of thy neighbours to 
hide the shame of thy nakedness." 

Chr. By laws and ordinances you will not be saved, since 
you came not in by the door (Gal. ii. 16). And as for this 
coat that is on my back, it was given me by the Lord of the 
place whither I go ; and that, as you say, to cover my 
nakedness with. And I take it as a token of his kindness to 



THE HILL DIFFICULTY. 45 

me, for I had nothing but rags before. And besides, thus I 
comfort myself as I go : Surely, think I, when I come to the 
gate of the city, the Lord thereof will know me for good, 
since I have his coat on my back, — a coat that he gave mo 
freely in the day that he stripped me of my rags. I have, 
moreover, a mark in my forehead, of which, perhaps, you 
have taken no notice, which one of my Lord's most intimate 
associates fixed there in the day that my burden fell off my 
shoulders. I will tell you, moreover, that I had then given 
me a roll sealed, to comfort me by reading as I go in the way ; 
I was also bid to give it in at the Celestial Gate, in token of 
my certain going in after it : all which things I doubt you 
want, and want them because you came not in at the gate. 

To these things they gave him no answer, only they looked 
upon each other, and laughed. Then I saw that they went on 
all, save that Christian kept before, who had no more talk but 
with himself, and that sometimes sighingly, and sometimes 
comfortably ; also he would be often reading in the roll that 
one of the shining ones gave him, by which he was refreshed. 

I beheld, then, that they all went on till they came to the 
foot of the hill Difficulty, at the bottom of which was a spring. 
There were also in the same place two other ways besides that 
which came straight from the gate ; one turned to the left 




46 FORMALIST AND HTPOCEISY TURN ASIDE. 

hand, and the other to the right, at the bottom of the hill : 
but the narrow way lay right up the hill (and the name of the 
going up the side of the hill is called Difficulty). Christian 
now went to the spring and drank thereof to refresh himself 
(Isa. xlix, 10), and then began to go up the hill ; saying, 

' ' This hill, though high, I covet to ascend ; 
The difficulty will not me offend, 
For I perceive the way to life lies here : 
Come, plnck up, heart, let's neither faint nor fear : 
Better, though difficult, the right way to go, 
Than wrong, though easy, where the end is woe." 

The other two also came to the foot of the hill. But when 
they saw that the hill was steep and high, and that there 
were two other ways to go ; and supposing also that these 
two ways might meet again with that up which Christian 
went, on the other side of the hill, therefore they were re- 
solved to go in those ways (now the name of one of those 
ways was Danger, and the name of the other Destruction). 
So the one took the way which is called Danger, which 
led him into a great wood ; and the other took directly up 
, the way to Destruction, which led him into a wide field fall 
of dark mountains, where he stumbled and fell, and rose no 
more. 

I looked then after Christian, to see him go up the hill, 
where I perceived he fell from running to going, and from going 
to clambering upon his hands and his knees, because of the 
steepness of the place. . Now about the midway to the top of 
the hill was a pleasant arbour, made by the Lord of the hill, for 
the refreshment of weary travellers. Thither therefore Chris- 
tian got, where also he sat down to rest him. Then he pulled 
his roll out of his bosom, and read therein to his comfort ; he 
also now began afresh to take a review of the coat or 
garment that was given him as he stood by the cross. Thus 
pleasing himself a while, he at last fell into a slumber, and 
thence into a fast sleep, which detained him in that place 
until it was almost night, and in his sleep his roll fell out of 




one to him 
awaked hini, say- 
ing, " Go to the 



I- • - 



4S 



CHRISTIAN FALLS ASLEEP IN THE ARBOUR. 




ant, thou sluggard ; consider her ways, and be wise " (Prov. 
vi. 6). And with that Christian suddenly started np, and 
sped him on his way, and went apace till he came to the top 
of the hill. 

Now when he was got np to the top of the hill, there came 
two men running against him amain. The name of the one 
was Timorous, and the name of the other Mistrust ; to whom 
Christian said, " Sirs, what's the matter you run the wrong 
way ? " Timorous answered that they were going to the city 
of Zion, and had got up that difficult place ; " but," said he, 




I 



" the farther we go, the more danger we meet with, wherefore 
we turned, and are going back again." 

"Yes," said Mistrust; "for just before us lie a couple of 
lions in the way, whether sleeping or waking we know not ; 
and we could not think, if we came within reach, but they 
would presently pull us in pieces." 

Chr. Then said Christian, "You make me afraid; but 
whither shall I fly to be safe ? If I go back to mine own 
country, that is prepared for fire and brimstone ; and I shall 
certainly perish there. If I can get to the celestial city, I 
am sure to be in safety there. I must venture : to go back is 
nothing but death ; to go forward is fear of death, and life 
everlasting beyond it. I will yet go forward." 

So Mistrust and Timorous ran down the hill ; and Christian 
went on his way. But thinking again of what he heard from 
the men, he felt in his bosom for his roll, that he might read 
therein, and be comforted; but he felt, and found it not. 
Then was Christian in great distress, and knew not what to 
do ; for he wanted that which used to relieve him, and that 

H 



50 CHRISTIAN SEEKS FOR HIS ROLL. 

which should have been his pass into the celestial city. Here, 
therefore, he began to be much perplexed, and knew not what 
to do ; at last he bethought himself that he had slept in the 
arbour that is on the side of the hill : and falling down upon 
his knees, he asked Grod forgiveness for that his foolish act, 
and then went back to look for his roll. But all the way he 
went back, who can sufficiently set forth the sorrow of 
Christian's heart? sometimes he sighed, sometimes he wept, 
and oftentimes he chid himself for being so foolish to fall 
asleep in that place, which was erected only for a little 
refreshment from his weariness. Thus, therefore, he went 
back ; carefully looking on this side and on that, all the way 
as he went, if happily he might find his roll, that had been 
his comfort so many times in his journey. He went thus till 
he came again within sight of the arbour where he sat and 
slept ; but that sight renewed his sorrow the more, by bring- 
ing again even afresh his evil of sleeping into his mind. Thus, 
therefore, he now went on bewailing his sinful sleep, saying, 
" Oh, wretched man that I am, that I should sleep in the 
daytime ! that I should sleep in the midst of difficulty ! (1 
Thess. v. 7, 8 ; Rev. ii. 4, 5,) that I should so indulge the 
flesh, as to use that rest for ease to my flesh, which the Lord 
of the hill hath erected only for the relief of the spirits of 
pilgrims ! How many steps have I took in vain ? (thus it 
happened to Israel ; for their sin they were sent back again 
by the way of the Red Sea,) and I am made to tread those 
steps with sorrow, which I might have trod with delight, had 




jjh- 



THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL. 51 

it not been for this sinful sleep. How far might I have been 
on my way by this time ! I am made to tread those steps 
thrice over which I needed not to have trod but once : yea, 
now also I am like to be benighted, for the day is almost 
spent. Oh, that I had not slept ! " 

Now by this time he was come to the arbour again, where 
for a while he sat down and wept ; but at last (as Christian 
would have it), looking sorrowfully down under the settle, 
there he espied his roll, the which he with trembling and 
haste catched up, and put it into his bosom ; but who can tell 
how joyful this man was when he had gotten his roll again ! 
For this roll was the assurance of his life and acceptance at 
the desired haven. Therefore he laid it up in his bosom, gave 
thanks to God for directing his eye to the place where it lay, 
and with joy and tears betook himself again to his journey. 
But oh, how nimbly now did he go up the rest of the hill ! 
Yet before he got up, the sun went down upon Christian, and 
this made him again recall the vanity of his sleeping to his 
remembrance, and thus he again began to condole with him- 
self: " Oh, thou sinful sleep ! how for thy sake am I like to 
be benighted in my journey ! I must walk without the sun, 
darkness must cover the path of my feet, and I must hear the 
noise of the doleful creatures, because of my sinful sleep ! " 
Now also he remembered the story that Mistrust and Timorous 
told him of, how they were frighted with the sight of the 
lions. Then said Christian to himself again, " These beasts 
range in the night for their prey, and if they should meet 
with me in the dark, how should I shift them ? how should I 
escape being by them torn in pieces ? " Thus he went on his 
way ; but while he was thus bewailing his unhappy miscarriage, 
he lift up his eyes, and behold, there was a very stately palace 
before him, the name of which was Beautiful, and it stood 
just by the highway side. 

So I saw in my dream that he made haste and went for- 
ward, that if possible he might get lodging there. Now 
before he had gone far, he entered into a very narrow passage, 
which was about a furlong off of the porter's lodge, and, 
looking very narrowly before him as he went, he espied two 



.-.'■.;.. 

-V- 




lions in the way. Now, thought he, I see the dangers that 
Mistrust and Timorous were driven back by. (The lions were 
chained, but he saw not the chains.) Then he was afraid, and 
thought also himself to go back after them, for he thought 
nothing but death was before him ; but the porter at the 
lodge, whose name is "Watchful, perceiving that Christian 



THE PORTER QUESTIONS CHRISTIAN. 53 

made a halt, as if he would go back, cried unto him, saying, 
" Is thy strength so small ? (Mark iv. 40,) fear not the lions, 
for they are chained, and are placed there for trial of faith 
where it is, and for discovery of those that have none : keep 
in the midst of the path, and no hurt shall come unto thee." 

Then I saw that he went on, trembling for fear of the lions, 
but taking good heed to the directions of the porter ; he heard 
them, roar, but they did him no harm. Then he clapped his 
hands, and went on, till he came and stood before the gate 
where the porter was. Then said Christian to the porter, 
"Sir, what house is this, and may I lodge here to-night?" 
The porter answered, " This house was built by the Lord of 
the hill, and he built it for the relief and security of pilgrims." 
The porter also asked whence he was, and whither he was 
going ? 

Chr. I am come from the city of Destruction, and am 
going to Mount Zion ; but because the sun is now set, I desire, 
if I may, to lodge here to-night. 

Por. What is your name ? 

Chr. My name is now Christian ; but my name at the first 
was Graceless : I came of the race of Japhet, whom God will 
persuade to dwell in the tents of Shem. (Gen. ix. 27.) 

Por. But how doth it happen that you come so late ? the 
sun is set. 

Chr. I had been here sooner, but that, wretched man that 
I am ! I slept by the arbour that stands on the hill-side ; 
nay, I had, notwithstanding that, been here much sooner, but 
that in my sleep I lost my evidence, and came without it to 
the brow of the hill, and then, feeling for it, and finding it 
not, I was forced, with sorrow of heart, to go back to the 
place where I slept my sleep, where I found it, and now I am 
come. 

Por. Well, I will call out one of the virgins of this place, 
who will, if she likes your talk, bring you in to the rest of 
the family, according to the rules of the house. So Watchful 
the porter rang a bell, at the sound of which, came out at the 
door of the house a grave and beautiful damsel, named 
Discretion, and asked why she was called. 




Tlie porter answered, " This man is in a journey from the 
city of Destruction to Mount Zion ; but being weary and be- 
nighted, he asked me if he might lodge here to-night, so I 
told him I would call for thee, who, after discourse had with 
him, mayest do as seemeth thee good, even according to the 
law of the house." 

Then she asked him whence he was, and whither he was 
going, and he told her. She asked him also how he got into 
the way, and he told her. Then she asked him what he had 
seen and met with in the way, and he told her ; and last, she 
ask d his name, so he said, "It is Christian ; and I have so 
much the more a desire to lodge here to-night, because, by 
what I perceive, this place was built by the Lord of the hill 
for the relief and security of pilgrims." So she smiled, but 



PIETY DISCOURSES WITH CHRISTIAN. 55 

the water stood in her eyes ; and after a little pause she said, 
"I will call forth two or three more of the family." So she 
ran to the door, and called out Prudence, Piety, and Charity, 
who, after a little more discourse with him, had him in to the 
family, and many of them meeting him at the threshold of 
the house said, " Come in, thou blessed of the Lord ; this 
house was built by the Lord of the hill on purpose to entertain 
such pilgrims in." Then he bowed his head, and followed 
them into the house. So when he was come in, and set down, 
they gave him something to drink, and consented together 
that, until supper was ready, some of them should have some 
particular discourse with Christian, for the best improvement 
of time : and they appointed Piety, and Prudence, and 
Charity, to discourse with him ; and thus they began : 

Piety. Come, good Christian, since we have been so loving 
to you, to receive you into our house this night, let us, if 
perhaps we may better ourselves thereby, talk with you of all 
things that have happened to you in your pilgrimage. 

Chr. With a very good will ; and I am glad that you are 
so well disposed. 

Piety. What moved you at first to betake yourself to a 
pilgrim's life ? 

Chr. I was driven out of my native country by a dreadful 
sound that was in mine ears, to wit, that unavoidable 
destruction did attend me if I abode in that place where I 
was. 

Piety. But how did it happen that you came out of your 
country this way ? 

Chr. It was as God would have it ; for when I was under 
the fears of destruction, I did not know whither to go ; but 
by chance there came a man, even to me (as I was trembling 
and weeping), whose name is Evangelist, and he directed me 
to the wicket-gate, which else I should never have found; 
and so set me into the way that hath led me directly to this 
house. 

Piety. But did you not come by the house of the inter- 
preter ? 

Chr, Yes, and did see such things there, the remembrance 



56 



HE EELATES WHAT HE SAW IN THE WAY. 



of which will stick by me as long as I live ; especially three 
things, to wit, How Christ, in despite of Satan, maintains his 
work of grace in the heart ; how the man had sinned him- 
self quite out of hopes of God's mercy ; and also the dream 
of him that thought in his sleep the day of judgment was 
come. 

Piety. Why ? did you hear him tell his dream ? 

Chr. Yes, and a dreadful one it was I thought ; it made 
my heart ache as he was telling of it j but yet I am glad I 
heard it. 

Piety. Was that all that you saw at the house of the 
interpreter ? 

Che. No ; he took me and had me where he shewed me a 
stately palace, and how the people were clad in gold that were 
in it ; and how there came a venturous man, and cut his way 
through the armed men that stood in the door to keep him 




HE IS INTERROGATED BY PRUDENCE. 57 

out ; and how lie was bid to come in and win eternal glory. 
Methought those things did ravish my heart : I could have 
stayed at that good man's house a twelvemonth, but that I 
knew I had farther to go. 

Piety. And what saw you else in the way ? 

Chr. Saw ! Why, I went but a little farther, and I saw one, 
as I thought in my mind, hang bleeding upon the tree ; and 
the very sight of him made my burden fall off my back (for 
I groaned under a weary burden), but then it fell down from 
off me. 'Twas a strange thing to me, for I never saw such a 
thing before. Tea, and while I stood looking up (for then I 
could not forbear looking), three shining ones came to me: 
one of them testified that my sins were forgiven me ; another 
stript me of my rags, and gave me this 'broidered coat which 
you see ; and the third set the mark which you see in my 
forehead, and gave me this sealed roll (and with that he 
plucked it out of his bosom). 

Piety. But you saw more than this, did you not ? 

Chr. The things that I have told you were the best ; yet 
some other small matters I saw, as namely, I saw three men, 
Simple, Sloth, and Presumption, lie asleep a little out of the 
way as I came, with irons upon their heels ; but do you think 
I could awake them ! I saw also Formalist and Hypocrisy 
come tumbling over the wall, to go, as they pretended, to 
Zion, but they were quickly lost ; even as I myself did tell 
them, but they would not believe : but above all, I found it 
hard work to get up this hill, and as hard to come by the 
lions' mouths ; and truly, if it had not been for the good man, 
the porter, that stands at the .gate, I do not know but that, 
after all, I might have gone back again ; but now I thank God 
I am here, and I thank you for receiving of me. 

Then Prudence thought good to ask him a few questions, 
and desired his answer to them. 

Pru. Do you not think sometimes of the country from 
whence you came ? 

Chr. Yes ; but with much shame and detestation ; truly, 
if I had been mindful of that country from whence I came 
out, I might have had opportunity to have returned ; but 



58 CHARITY INQUIRES RESPECTING HIS FAMILY. 

now I desire a better country, that is, an heavenly (Heb. 
xi. 15, 16).' 

Pru. Do yon not yet bear away with yon some of the 
things that then yon were conversant withal ? 

Chr. Yes; but greatly against my will; especially my 
inward and carnal cogitations, with which all my countrymen, 
as well as myself, were delighted ; but now all those things 
are my grief, and might I but choose mine own things, I 
would choose never to think of those things more ; but when 
I would be doing of that which is best, that which is worst is 
with me (Rom. vii.). 

Pru. Do you not find sometimes, as if those things were 
vanquished, which at other times are your perplexity ? 

Chr. Yes, but that is but seldom; but they are to me 
golden hours in which such things happen to me. 

Pru. Can you remember by what means you find your an- 
noyances at times, as if they were vanquished ? 

Chr. Yes, when I think what I saw at the cross, that will 
do it ; and when I look upon my 'broidered coat, that will do 
it ; also when I look into the roll that I carry in my bosom, 
that will do it; and when my thoughts wax warm about 
whither I am going, that will do it. 

Pru. And what is it that makes you so desirous to go to 
Mount Sion ? 

Chr. Why, there I hope to see Him alive that did hang 
dead on the cross ; and there I hope to be rid of all those 
things that to this day are in me an annoyance to me ; there 
they say there is no death (Isa. xxv. 8 ; Rev. xxi. 4), and 
there I shall dwell with such company as I like best. Por to 
tell you truth, I love Him, because I was by Him eased of my 
burden, and I am weary of my inward sickness ; I would fain 
be where I shall die no more, and with the company that 
shall continually cry, Holy, holy, holy. 

Then said Charity to Christian, " Have you a family ? are 
you a married man ? " 

Chr. I have a wife and four small children. 

Cha. And why did you not bring them along with you ? 

Chr. Then Christian wept, and said, " Oh, how willingly 



CHRISTIAN SHEWS WHY HE CAME ALONE. 59 

would I have done it! but they were all of them utterly- 
averse to my going on pilgrimage." 

Cha. But you should have talked to them, and have en- 
deavoured to have shewn them the danger of being behind. 

Chr. So I did, and told them also what God had shewed to 
me of the destruction of our city ; but I seemed to them as 
one that mocked, and they believed me not (Gren. xix. 14). 

Cha. And did you pray to God that he would bless your 
counsel to them ? 




Chr. Yes, and that with much affection; for you must 
think that my wife and poor children were very dear unto 
me. 

Cha. But did you tell them of your own sorrow, and fear 
of destruction ? for, I suppose, that destruction was visible 
enough to you. 

Chr. Yes, over, and over, and over. They might also see 
my fears in my countenance, in my tears, and also in my 
trembling under the apprehension of the judgment that did 
hang over our heads ; but all was not sufficient to prevail 
with them to come with me. 



60 THEIR DISCOUESE ABOUT THE LORD OF THE HILL. 

Cha. But what could they say for themselves why they 
came not ? 

Chr. Why, my wife was afraid of losing this world ; and 
my children were given to the foolish delights of youth ; so 
what by one thing, and what by another, they left me to 
wander in this manner alone. 

Cha. But did you not with your vain life, damp all that 
you by words used by way of persuasion to bring them away 
with you ? 

Chr. Indeed I cannot commend my life, for I am conscious 
to myself of many failings therein; I know also that a man 
by his conversation, may soon overthrow what by argument 
or persuasion he doth labour to fasten upon others for their 
good. Yet, this I can say, I was very wary of giving them 
occasion, by any unseemly action, to make them averse to 
going on pilgrimage. Yea, for this very thing, they would 
tell me I was too precise, and that I denied myself of sins 
(for their sakes) in which they saw no evil. Nay, I think I 
may say, that, if what they saw in me did hinder them, it was 
my great tenderness in sinning against God, or of doing any 
wrong to my neighbour. 

Cha. Indeed, Cain hated his brother because his own works 
were evil, and his brother's righteous (1 John iii. 12) ; and if 
thy wife and children have been offended with thee for this, 
they thereby shew themselves to be implacable to good ; and 
thou hast delivered thy soul from their blood (Ezek. iii. 19). 

Now I saw in my dream, that thus they sat talking together 
until supper was ready. So when they had made ready, they 
sat down to meat. Now the table was furnished with fat 
things, and with wine that was well refined; and all their 
talk at the table was about the Lord of the hill : as, namely, 
about what He had done, and wherefore He did what He did, 
and why He had builded that house : and by what they said, 
I perceived that He had been a great warrior, and had fought 
with and slain him that had the power of death (Heb. ii. 14, 
15) ; but not without great danger to Himself, which made 
me love Him the more. 

For, as they said, and as I believe (said Christian) He did 




it with the loss of much blood ; but that which put glory of 
grace into all He did, was, that He did it out of pure love 
to His country. And besides, there were some of them of the 
household that said they had seen and spoke with Him since 
He did die on the cross ; and they have attested that they 
had it from his own lips, that He is such a lover of poor pil- 
grims, that the like is not to be found from the east to the 
west. 

They moreover gave an instance of what they affirmed, and 
that was, He had stript Himself of His glory that He might 



62 THE STUDY AND ITS RECORDS. 

do this for the poor ; and that they heard Him say and affirm, 
That He would not dwell in the Mountain of Zion alone. 
They said, moreover, that He had made many pilgrims 
princes, though by nature they were beggars born, and 
their original had been the dunghill (1 Sam. ii. 8 ; Ps. 
cxiii. 7). 

Thus they discoursed together till late at night, and after 
they had committed themselves to their Lord for protection, 
they betook themselves to rest. The pilgrim they laid in a 
large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun 
rising ; the name of the chamber was Peace, where he slept 
till break of day ; and then he awoke and sang, 

1 ' Where am I now ? is this the love and care 
Of Jesus for the men that pilgrims are, 
Thus to provide ! That I should he forgiven ! 
And dwell already the next door to heaven !" 

So in the morning they all got up, and after some more 
discourse, they told him that he should not depart till they 
had shewed him the rarities of that place. And first they 
had him into the study, where they shewed him records of 
the greatest antiquity ; in which, as I remember my dream, 
they shewed him first the pedigree of the Lord of the hill, 
that he was the son of the Ancient of days, and came by an 
eternal generation. Here also was more fully recorded the 
acts that He had done, and the names of many hundreds that 
He had taken into His service ; and how He had placed them 
in such habitations that could neither by length of days, nor 
decays of nature, be dissolved. 

Then they read to him some of the worthy acts that some 
of His servants had done. As how they had subdued king- 
doms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the 
mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the 
edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, 
waxed valiant in fight, and turned to flight the armies of the 
aliens (Heb. xi. 33, 34). 

Then they read again in another part of the records of the 
house, where it was shewed how willing their Lord was to 



THE AEMOURT AND ITS CURIOSITIES. 



63 



receive into his favour any, even any, though they in time 
past had offered great affronts to His person and proceedings. 
Here also were several other histories of many other famous 
things, of all which Christian had a view. As of things both 
ancient and modern ; together with prophecies and predic- 
tions of things that have their certain accomplishment, both 
to the dread and amazement of enemies, and the comfort and 
solace of pilgrims. 

The next day they took him and had him into the armoury ; 
where they shewed him all manner of furniture, which their 
Lord had provided for pilgrims, as sword, shield, helmet, 
breastplate, all-prayer, and shoes that would not wear out. 
And there was here enough of this to harness out as many 




64 CHRISTIAN SEES THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS. 

men for the service of their Lord as there be stars in the 
heaven for multitude. 

They also shewed him some of the engines with which 
some of His servants had done wonderful things. They 
shewed him Moses' rod, the hammer and nail with which 
Jael slew Sisera, the pitchers, trumpets, and lamps, too, with 
which Gideon put to flight the armies of Midian. Then they 
shewed him the ox's goad wherewith Shamgar slew six hun- 
dred men. They shewed him also the jaw-bone with which 
Samson did such mighty feats ; they shewed him, moreover, 
the sling and stone with which David slew Goliath of Gath ; 
and the sword, also, with which their Lord will kill the man 
of sin, in the day that he shall rise up to the prey. They 
shewed him besides many excellent things, with which Chris- 
tian was much delighted. This done, they went to their rest 
again. 

Then I saw in my dream, that on the morrow he got up to 
go forwards ; but they desired him to stay till the next day 
also, and then, said they, we will, if the day be clear, shew 
you the delectable mountains ; which, they said, would yet 
further add to his comfort, because they were nearer the 
desired haven than the place where at present he was. So he 
consented, and stayed. When the morning was up, they had 
him to the top of the house, and bid him look south ; so he 
did; and behold, at a great distance (Isa. xxxiii. 16, 17) he 
saw a most pleasant mountainous country, beautified with 
woods, vineyards, fruits of all sorts, flowers also ; with springs 
and fountains, very delectable to behold. Then he asked the 
name of the country, they said it was Immanuel's land ; and 
it is as common, said they, as this hill is, to and for all the 
pilgrims. And when thou comest there, from thence, said 
they, thou mayest see to the gate of the celestial city, as the 
shepherds that live there will make appear. 

Now he bethought himself of setting forward, and they were 
willing he should ; but first, said they, let us go again into 
the armoury ; so they did ; and when he came there, they 
harnessed him from head to foot with what was of proof, lest 



-~ , si 



1:1 



stgjjsasigg^ 




.!i? !:''.%' l * 4 ''* J 



« 







isillii 



P111I1 

W| 1 perhaps he should 

m meet with assaults in 
r!&W SP3 the wa y- He > being k,i/miiiiip 




therefore thus ac- 
£~U%,^1 coutred, walketh out )-.' 'SIS 
^*. *'",/& with his friends to f'\ '$H$ 




66 



CHRISTIAN ARMED. 



the gate, and there he asked the porter if he saw any pilgrims 
pass by ; then the porter answered, Yes. 

Chr. Pray did you know him ? said he. 

Por. I asked him his name, and he told me it was Paithful. 

Chr. " Oh," said Christian, " I know him ; he is my towns- 




APOLLYON MEETS CHRISTIAN. 67 

man, my near neighbour ; he comes from the place where I 
was born. How far do yon think he may be before ? " 

Poe. He is got by this time below the hill. 

Chr. "Well," said Christian, "good porter, the Lord be 
with thee, and add to all thy blessings much increase for the 
kindness that thon hast shewed to me." 

Then he began to go forward; but Discretion, Piety, 
Charity, and Prudence, would accompany him down to the 
foot of the hill. So they went on together, reiterating their 
former discourses, till they came to go down the hill. Then 
said Christian, " As it was difficult coming up, so (so far as I 
can see) it is dangerous going down." "Yes," said Prudence, 
" so it is ; for it is a hard matter for a man to go down into 
the valley of Humiliation, as thou art now, and to catch no 
slip by the way ; therefore," said they, " are we come out to 
accompany thee down the hill." So he began to go down, 
but very warily, yet he caught a slip or two. 

Then I saw in my dream that these good companions, when 
Christian was gone down to the bottom of the hill, gave him 
a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, and a cluster of raisins ; and 
then he went on his way. 

But now, in this Valley of Humiliation, poor Christian was 
hard put to it ; for he had gone but a little way before he 
espied a foul fiend coming over the field to meet him; his 
name is Apollyon. Then did Christian begin to be afraid, 
and to cast in his mind whether to go back or to stand 
his ground. But he considered again, that he had no armour 
for his back, and therefore thought that to turn the back to 
him might give him greater advantage with ease to pierce 
him with his darts ; therefore he resolved to venture, and 
stand his ground. For, thought he, had I no more in mine 
eye than the saving of my life, 'twould be the best way to 
stand. 

So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the monster 
was hideous to behold ; he was clothed with scales like a fish 
(and they are his pride), he had wings like a dragon, feet 
like a bear, and out of his belly came fire and smoke, and his 



68 APOLLYON TEMPTS CHRISTIAN TO GO BACK. 

mouth was as the mouth of a lion. When he was come up 
to Christian, he beheld him with a disdainful countenance, 
and thus began to question with him. 

Apol. Whence come you, and whither are you bound ? 

Chr. I am come from the city of Destruction, which is the 
place of all evil, and am going to the city of Zion. 

Apol. By this I perceive thou art one of my subjects ; for 
all that country is mine, and I am the prince and god of it. 
How is it, then, that thou hast run away from thy king? 
Were it not that I hope thou mayest do me more service, I 
would strike thee now at one blow to the ground. 

Chr. I was born indeed in your dominions ; but your service 
was hard, and your wages such as a man could not live on, 
for the wages of sin is death (Rom. vi. 23) ; therefore, when 
I was come to years, I did as other considerate persons do, 
look out, if perhaps I might mend myself 

Apol. There is no prince that will thus lightly lose his 
subjects, neither will I as yet lose thee. But since thou corn- 
plainest of thy service and wages, be content to go back; 
what our country will afford I do here promise to give thee. 

Chr. But I have let myself to another, even to the King of 
princes, and how can I with fairness go back with thee ? 

Apol. Thou hast done in this according to the proverb, 
changed a bad for a worse ; but it is ordinaiy for those that 
have professed themselves his servants, after a while to give 
him the slip, and return again to me ; do thou so too, and all 
shall be well. 

Chr. I have given him my faith, and sworn my allegiance 
to him ; how, then, can I go back from this, and not be hanged 
as a traitor ? 

Apol. Thou didst the same to me ; and yet I am willing to 
pass by all, if now thou wilt yet turn again and go back. 

Chr. What I promised thee was in my non-age ; and besides, 
I count that the Prince under whose banner now I stand is 
able to absolve me ; yea, and to pardon also what I did as to 
my compliance with thee ; and besides, O thou destroying 
Apollyon, to speak truth, I like his service, his wages, his 







servants, Lis government, his company and country, better than 
thine ; and therefore leave off to persuade me farther : I am 
his servant, and I will follow him. 

Apol. Consider again, when thou art in cold blood, what 
thou art like to meet with in the way that thou goest. Thou 
knowest that for the most part, his servants come to an 
ill end, because they are transgressors against me and my 
ways. How many of them have been put to shameful deaths ! 
and besides, thou countest his service better than mine, whereas 
he never came yet from the place where he is, to deliver any 
that served him out of our hands ; but as for me, how many 
times, as all the world very well knows, have I delivered, 
either by power or fraud, those that have faithfully served 
me, from him and his, though taken by them, and so I will 
deliver thee. 

Che. His forbearing at present to deliver them, is on pur- 
pose to try their love, whether they will cleave to him to the 



70 APOLLYON THREATENS CHRISTIAN. 

end ; and as for the ill end thon sayest they come to, that is 
most glorions in their acconnt. For, for present deliverance, 
they do not much expect it ; for they stay for their glory, and 
then they shall have it, when their Prince comes in his, and 
the glory of the angels. 

Apol. Thou hast already been unfaithful in thy service to 
him, and how dost thou think to receive wages of him ? 

Chr. Wherein, O Apollyon, have I been unfaithful to him? 
Apol. Thou didst faint at first setting out, when thou wast 
almost choked in the Gulf of Despond ; thou didst attempt 
wrong ways to be rid of thy burden, whereas thou shouldst 
have stayed till thy Prince had taken it off; thou didst sin- 
fully sleep and lose thy choice thing ; thou wast also almost 
persuaded to go back at the sight of the lions ; and when 
thou talkest of thy journey, and of what thou hast heard and 
seen, thou art inwardly desirous of vainglory in all that thou 
sayest or doest. 

Chr. All this is true, and much more, which thou hast left 
out ; but the Prince whom I serve and honour is merciful 
and ready to forgive ; but besides, these infirmities possessed 
me in thy country, for there I sucked them in, and I have 
groaned under them, been sorry for them, and have obtained 
pardon of my Prince. 

Apol. Then Apollyon broke out into a grievous rage, saying, 
" I am an enemy to this Prince : I hate his person, his laws, 
and people : I am come out on purpose to withstand thee." 

Chr. Apollyon, beware what you do ; for I am in the 
King's highway, the way of holiness, therefore take heed to 
yourself. 

Apol. Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole 
breadth of the way, and said, " I am void of fear in this matter, 
prepare thyself to die ; for I swear by my iufernal den, that 
thou shalt go no farther; here will I spill thy soul;" and 
with that he threw a flaming dart at his breast ; but Christian 
had a shield in his hand, with which he caught it, and so pre- 
vented the danger of that. Then did Christian draw, for he 
saw 'twas tixne to bestir him ; and Apollyon as fast made at 
him, throwing darts as thick as hail ; by the which, notwith- 



THEIR DREADFUL COMBAT. 



71 



standing all that Christian conld do to avoid it, Apollyon 
wounded him in his head, his hand, and foot ; this made Chris- 
tian give a little back ; Apollyon therefore followed his work 
amain, and Christian again took courage, and resisted as man- 
fully as he could. This sore combat lasted for above half a 
day, even till Christian was almost quite spent. For you 
must know that Christian, by reason of his wounds, must 
needs grow weaker and weaker. 








St ' 



72 christian's victory and thanksgiving. 

Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began to gather 
up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a 
dreadful fall ; and with that, Christian's sword new out of 
his hand. Then said Apollyon, " I am sure of thee now ;" 
and with that, he had almost pressed him to death, so that 
Christian began to despair of life. But as God would have 
it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow, thereby to 
make a full end of this good man, Christian nimbly reached 
out his hand for his sword, and caught it, saying, " Rejoice 
not against me, mine enemy ! when I fall I shall arise " 
(Mic. vii. 8) ; and with that, gave him a deadly thrust, which 
made him give back, as one that had received his mortal 
wound: Christian perceiving that, made at him again, 
saying, "JSTay, in all these things we are more than con- 
querors, through Him that loved us " (Rom. viii. 37). And 
with that, Apollyon spread forth his dragon's wings, and sped 
him away (James iv. 7), that Christian for a season saw him 
no more. 

In this combat no man can imagine, unless he had seen 
and heard as I did, what yelling and hideous roaring Apollyon 
made all the time of the fight ; he spake like a dragon ; and, 
on the other side, what sighs and groans burst from Christian's 
heart. I never saw him all the while give so much as one 
pleasant look, till he perceived he had wounded Apollyon 
with his two-edged sword, then, indeed, he did smile, and 
look upward ; but 'twas the dreadfullest sight that ever I 
saw. 

So when the battle was over, Christian said, I will here 
give thanks to him that hath delivered me out of the mouth 
of the lion, to him that did help me against Apollyon ; and so 
he did, saying : 

' { Great Beelzebub, the captain of this fiend, 
Design d my ruin ; therefore to this end 
He sent him harness' d out, and he with rage 
That hellish was, did fiercely me engage : 
But blessed Michael helped me, and I, 
By dint of sword, did quickly make him fly ; 
Therefore to him let me give lasting praise 
And thanks, and bless his holy name always." 




Then there came to him a hand, with some of the leaves of 
the tree of life, the which Christian took, and applied to the 
wounds that he had received in the battle, and was healed im- 
mediately. He also sat down in that place to eat bread, and 
to drink of the bottle that was given him a little before ; so, 
being refreshed, he addressed himself to his journey, with 
his sword drawn in his hand ; for he said, " I know not but 
some other enemy may be at hand." But he met with no 
other affront from Apollyon quite through this valley. 

Now at the end of this valley was another, called the 
Valley of the Shadow of Death, and Christian must needs go 
through it, because the way to the celestial city lay through 
the midst of it. Now this valley is a very solitary place ; the 
prophet Jeremiah thus describes it : A wilderness, a land of 
deserts and of pits ? a land of drought, and of the shadow of 

L 



74 



CHRISTIAN MEETS TWO MEN GOING BACK. 



death ; a land that no man (but a Christian) passeth through, 
and where no man dwelt (Jer. ii. 6). 

Now here Christian was worse put to it than in his fight 
with Apollyon, as by the sequel you shall see. 

I saw then in my dream, that when Christian was got to 
the bord_rs of the shadow of deaths there met him two men, 
children of them that brought up an evil report of the good 
land, making haste to go back (Numb. xiii. 32), to whom 
Christian spake as follows : 

Chr. Whither are you going ? 

Men. They said, " Back, back ; and we would have you do 
so too, if either life or peace is prized by you." 

Chr. "Why, what's the matter? " said Christian. 

Men. "Matter!" said they; "we were going that way as 
you are going, and went as far as we durst ; and indeed we 
were almost past coming back, for had we gone a little 
farther, we had not been here to bring the news to thee." 

Chr, " But what have you met with ? " said Christian. 



«(!«««* 







mmm 







THEY ATTEMPT TO DISCOURAGE HIM. 



75 



Men. Why, we were almost in 
the Valley of the Shadow of Death 
(Ps.xliv. 19 ; cvii. 10) ; but that by 
good hap we looked before us, and 
saw the danger before we came to it. 

Chr. " But what have you seen ?" 
said Christian. 

Men. Seen ! why, the valley itself, 
which is as dark as pitch ; we also 
saw there the hobgoblins, satyrs, 
and dragons of the pit; we heard 
also in that valley a continual 
howling and yelling, as of a people 
under unutterable misery, who there 
sat bound in affliction and irons ; 
and over that valley hangs the 
discouraging clouds of confusion, 
death also doth always spread his 
wings over it ; in a word, it is every 
whit dreadful, being utterly with- 
out order (Job. iii. 5 ; x. 22). 

Chr. Then said Christian, "I 
perceive not yet, by what you have 
said, but that this is my way to the 
desired haven." 

Men. " Be it thy way, we will 
not choose it for ours ;'" so they 
parted, and Christian went on his 
way ; but still with his sword 
drawn in his hand, for fear lest he 
should be assaulted. 

I saw then in my dream, so far 
as this valley reached, there was on 
the right hand a very deep ditch ; 
that ditch is it into which the blind 
have led the blind in all ages, and 
have both there miserably perished. 
Again ; behold, on the left hand 




76 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 





> 7 




there was a very dangerous quag, 
into which, if even a good man falls, 
he can find no bottom for his foot 
to stand on. Into that quag King 
David once did fall, and had no 
doubt therein been smothered, had 
not He that is able plucked him 
out (Ps. box. 14). 

The pathway was here also ex- 
ceeding narrow, and therefore good 
Christian was the more put to it ; 
for when he sought in the dark to 
shun the ditch on the one hand, he 
was ready to tip over into the mire 
on the other ; also when he sought 
to escape the mire, without great 
carefulness, he would be ready to 
fall into the ditch. Thus he went 
on, and I heard him here sigh 
bitterly ; for besides the dangers 
mentioned above, the pathway was 
here so dark, that ofttimes when 
he lift up his foot to set forward, 
he knew not where, or upon what, 
he should set it next. 

About the midst of this valley I 
perceived the mouth of hell to be, 
and it stocd also hard by the way- 
side. Now, thought Christian, 
what shall I do ? And ever and 
anon the flame and smoke would 
come out in such abundance, with 
sparks and hideous noises (things 
that cared not for Christian's 
sword, as did Apollyon before), 
that he was forced to put up his 
sword, and betake himself to 
another weapon, called ' All Prayer' 



CHRISTIAN S TERROR AND PERPLEXITY. 



77 



(Eph. vi. 18) ; so lie cried in my 
hearing, " Lord, I beseech thee, 
deliver my soul" (Ps. cxvi. 4). 
Thus he went on a great while, 
yet still the flames would be reach- 
ino- towards him: also he heard 
doleful voices and rushings to and 
fro ; so that sometimes he thought 
he should be torn in pieces, or 
trodden down like mire in the 
streets. This frightful sight was 
seen, and these dreadful noises were 
heard, by hirn for several miles 
together ; and coming to a place 
where he thought he heard a 
company of fiends coming forward 
to meet him, he stopped, and 
began to muse what he had best 
to do. Sometimes he had half a 
thought to go back. Then again 
he thought he might be half-way 
through the valley ; he remembered 
also how he had already vanquished 
many a danger, and that the danger 
of going back might be much more 
than for to go forward ; so he re- 
solved to go on. Yet the fiends 
seemed to come nearer and nearer, 
but when they were come even 
almost at him, he cried out in a 
most vehement voice, " I will walk 
in the strength of the Lord God;" 
so they gave back, and came no 
far! her. 

One thing I would not let slip : 
I took notice that now poor 
Christian was so confounded that 
he did not know his own voice ; 



!ch| r «- 




78 



satan's eyil suggestions. 





and thus I perceived it : Just when 
he was come over against the month 
of the burning pit, one of the 
wicked ones got behind him, and 
stept up softly to him, and whisper- 
ingiy suggested many grievous 
blasphemies to him, which he verily 
thought had proceeded from his 
own mind. This put Christian more 
to it than anything that he met 
with before, even to think that he 
should now blaspheme Him that he 
loved so much before ; yet, could he 
have helped it, he would not have 
done it ; but he had not the dis- 
cretion neither to stop his ears, nor 
to know from whence those blas- 
phemies came. 

When Christian had travelled in 
this disconsolate condition some 
considerable time, he thought he 
heard the voice of a man, as going 
before him, saying, " Though I walk 
through the valley of the shadow 
of death, I will fear none ill, for 
thou art with me" (Ps. xxiii. 4). 

Then was he glad, and that for 
these reasons : 

First, because he gathered froni 
thence that some who feared God 
were in this valley as well as himself. 

Secondly, for that he perceived 
Grod was with them, though in that 
dark and dismal state ; and why 
not, thought he, with me, though, 
by reason of the impediment that 
attends this place, I cannot perceive 
it? (Jobix. 10.) 



CHRISTIAN SEES THE DANGERS HE HAD ESCAPED. 79 

Thirdly, for that he hoped (could he overtake them) to 
have company by and by. So he went on, and called to him 
that was before, but he knew not what to answer, for that he 
also thought himself to be alone. And by and by the day 
broke ; then said Christian, " He hath turned the shadow of 
death into the morning" (Amos v. 8). 

]STow, morning being come, he looked back, not out of desire 
to return, but to see, by the light of the day, what hazards he 
had gone through in the dark. So he saw more perfectly the 
ditch that was on the one hand, and the quag that was on the 
other ; also how narrow the way was which lay betwixt them 
both ; also now he saw the hobgoblins, and satyrs, and dragons 
of the pit, but all afar off, for after break of day they came 
not nigh ; yet they were discovered to him, according to that 
which is written, " He discover eth deep things out of dark- 
ness, and bringeth out to light the shadow of death " (Job 
xii. 22). 

Now was Christian much affected with his deliverance from 
all the dangers of his solitary way, which dangers, though he 
feared them more before, yet he saw them more clearly now, 
because the light of the day made them conspicuous to him ; 
and about this time the sun was rising, and this was another 
mercy to Christian ; for you must note that, though the first 
part of the Valley of the Shadow of Death was dangerous, 
yet this second part, which he was yet to go, was, if possible, 
far more dangerous : for from the place where he now stood, 
even to the end of the valley, the way was all along set so 
full of snares, traps, gins, and nets here, and so full of pits, 
pitfalls, deep holes, and shelvings down there, that had it now 
been dark, as it was when he came the first part of the way, 
had he had a thousand souls, they had in reason been cast 
away ; but, as I said, just now the sun was rising. " Then," 
said he, " His candle shineth on my head, and by his light I 
go through darkness" (Job xxix. 3). 

In this light, therefore, he came to the end of the valley. 
Now I saw in my dream, that at the end of this valley lay 
blood, bones, ashes, and mangled bodies of men, even of 
pilgrims that had gone this way formerly : and while I was 



80 CHRISTIAN SEES FAITHFUL BEFOEE HIM. 

musing what should be the reason, I espied a little before me 
a cave, where two giants, Pope and Pagan, dwelt in old time, 
by whose power and tyranny, the men whose bones, blood, 
ashes, &c. lay there, were cruelly put to death. But by this 
place Christian went without much danger, whereat I some- 
what wondered ; but I have learnt since, that Pagan has been 
dead many a day ; and as for the other, though he be yet 
alive, he is, by reason of age, and also of the many shrewd 
brushes that he met with in his younger days, grown so crazy 
and stiff in his joints, that he can now do little more than sit 
in his cave's mouth grinning at pilgrims as they go by, and 
biting his nails, because he cannot come at them. 

So I saw that Christian went on his way, yet at the sight 
of the old man that sat in the mouth of the cave he could not 
tell what to think, especially because he spake to him, though 
he could not go after him, saying, " You will never mend, till 
more of you be burned:" but he held his peace, and set a 
good face on't, and so went by, and catched no hurt. Then 
sang Christian, 

' ■ world of wonders ! (I can say no less) 
That I should be preserv'd in that distress 
That I have met with here ! blessed be 
That hand that from it hath delivered me ! 
Dangers in darkness, devils, hell, and sin, 
Did compass me, while I this vale was in : 
Yea, snares, and pits, and traps, and nets did lie 
My path about, that worthless silly I 
Might have been catched, entangled, and cast down 
But since I live, let Jesus wear the crown." 

Now as Christian went on his way, he came to a little 
ascent, which was cast up on purpose, that pilgrims might 
see before them ; up there, therefore, Christian went, and 
looking forward, he saw Faithful before him upon his journey. 
Then said Christian aloud, " Ho, ho ! So-ho ! stay, and I will 
be your companion." At that Faithful looked behind him, 
to whom Christian cried again, " Stay, stay, till I come up to 
you." But Faithful answered, "No, I am upon my life, and 
the Avenger of Blood is behind me." At this Christian was 
somewhat moved, and putting to all his strength, he quickly 




got up with Faithful, and did also overrun him, so the last 
was first. Then did Christian vain-gloriously smile, because 
he had gotten the start of his brother ; but not taking good 



82 CHRISTIAN AND FAITHFUL CONVERSE ABOUT THEIR CITY. 

heed to his feet, lie suddenly stumbled and fell, and could not 
rise again until Faithful came up to help him. 




Then I saw in my dream, they went very lovingly on 
together; and had sweet discourse of all things that had 
happened to them in their pilgrimage ; and thus Christian 
began. 

Chr. My honoured and well-beloved brother Faithful, I am 
glad that I have overtaken you ; and that God has so tem- 
pered our spirits, that we can walk as companions in this so 
pleasant a path. 

Faith. I had thought, dear friend, to have had your com- 
pany quite from our town ; but you did get the start of me, 
wherefore I was forced to come thus much of the way alone. 

Chr. How long did you stay in the City of Destruction 
before you set out after me on your pilgrimage ? 

Faith. Till I could stay no longer ; for there was great talk 



CHRISTIAN INQUIRES RESPECTING PLIABLE. 83 

presently, after you were gone out, that our city would in 
short time with fire from heaven be burned down to the 
ground. 

Che. What ! did your neighbours talk so ? 

Faith. Yes ; 'twas for a while in everybody's mouth. 

Chr. What ! and did no more of them but you come out to 
escape the danger ? 

Faith. Though there was, as I said, a great talk thereabout, 
yet I do not think they did firmly believe it. For in the heat 
of the discourse, I heard some of them deridingly speak of 
you and of your desperate journey (for so they called this 
your pilgrimage) ; but I did believe, and do so still, that the 
end of our city will be with fire and brimstone from above, 
and therefore I have made mine escape. 

Chr. Did you hear no talk of neighbour Pliable ? 

Faith. Yes, Christian ; I heard that he followed you till he 
came at the Slough of Despond, where, as some said, he fell 
in ; but he would not be known to have so done ; but I am 
sure he was soundly bedabbled with that kind of dirt. 

Chr. And what said the neighbours to him ? 

Faith. He hath, since his going back, been had greatly in 
derision, and that among all sorts of people : some do mock 
and despise him, and scarce will any set him on work. He is 
now seven times worse than if he had never gone out of the 
city. 

Chr. But why should they be so set against him, since they 
also despise the way that he forsook ? 

Faith. " Oh," they say, " hang him, he is a turncoat, he 
was not true to his profession." I think God has stirred up 
even his enemies to hiss at him, and make him a proverb, 
because he hath forsaken the way (Jer. xxix. 18, 19). 

Chr. Had you no talk with him before you came out ? 

Faith. I met him once in the streets, but he leered away on 
the other side, as one ashamed of what he had done ; so I 
spake not to him. 

Chr. Well, at my first setting out, I had hopes of that 
man ; but now I fear he will perish in the overthrow of the 
city, " for it is happened to him according to the true proverb, 



g?Pi PI 







The dog is turned to his vomit again, and the sow that was 
washed to her wallowing in the mire " (2 Pet. ii. 22). 

Faith. They are my fears of him too : but who can hinder 
that which will be ? 

Chr. "Well, neighbour Faithful," said Christian, "let us 
leave him, and talk of things that more immediately concern 
ourselves. Tell me now what you have met with in the way 
as you came, for I know you have met with some things, or 
else it may be writ for a wonder." 

Faith. I escaped the slough that I perceive you fell into, 
and got up to the gate without that danger ; only I met with 
one whose name was Wanton, that had like to have done me 
a mischief. 

Chr. 'Twas well you escaped her net; Joseph was hard 
put to it by her, and he escaped her as you did, but it had 
like to have cost him his life (Gen. xxxix. 11, 12, 13). But 
what did she do to you ? 

Faith. You cannot think (but that you know something) 
what a nattering tongue she had ; she lay at me hard to turn 
aside with her, promising me all manner of content. 

Chr. Nay, she did not promise you the content of a good 
conscience. 

Faith. You know what I mean> all carnal and fleshly 
content. 

Chr. Thank Grod you have escaped her: The abhorred of 
the Lord shall fall into her ditch (Prov. xxii. 14). 



FAITHFUL S MEETING WITH ADAM THE FIRST. 



85 



Faith. Nay, I know not whether I did wholly escape her, 
or no. 

Che. Why I trow yon did not consent to her desires ? 

Faith. No, not to defile myself"; for I remembered an old 
writing that I had seen, which saith, Her steps take hold 
of hell (Prov. v. 5). So I shnt 
mine eyes, becanse I would not 
be bewitched with her looks 
(Job xxxi. 1) • then she railed 
on me, and I went my way. 

Chr. Did yon meet with no 
other assanlt as yon came ? 

Faith. "When I came to the 
foot of the hill called Difficnlty, 
I met with a very aged man, 
who asked me what I was, and 
whither bound? I told him 
that I was a pilgrim going to 
the Celestial City : then said the 
old man, Thon lookest like an 
honest fellow ; wilt thon be con- 
tent to dwell with me for the 
wages that I shall give thee ? 
Then I asked him his name, and 
where he dwelt ? He said his 
name was Adam the first, and 
that he dwelt in the Town of 
Deceit (Eph. iv. 22). I asked 
him then, What was his work ? 
and what the wages that he 
wonld give ? He told me, that 
his work was many delights ; 
and his wages, that I shonld be 
his heir at last. I farther asked 
him, what honse he kept, and 
what other servants he had ? so 
he told me that his honse was 
maintained with all the dainties 




86 FAITHFUL IS ALMOST SLAIN BY MOSES. 

in the world, and that his servants were those of his own 
begetting. Then I asked how many children he had ? He 
said that he had but three daughters, — the lust of the flesh, 
the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life (1 John ii. 16) ; and 
that I should marry them all, if I would. Then I asked how 
long time he would have me live with him ? and he told me, 
as long as he lived himself. 

Chr. Well, and what conclusion came the old man and 
you to at last? 

Faith. Why, at first I found myself somewhat inclinable to 
go with the man, for I thought he spake very fair ; but, look- 
ing in his forehead as I talked with him, I saw there written, 
Put off the old man with his deeds. 
Che. And how then ? 

Faith. Then it came burning hot into my mind, whatever 
he said, and however he flattered, when he got me home to 
his house he would sell me for a slave. So I bid him forbear 
to talk, for I would not come near the door of his house. 
Then he reviled me, and told me that he would send such a 
one after me, that should make my way bitter to my soul ; so 
I turned to go away from him ; but just as I turned myself to 
go thence, I felt him take hold of my flesh, and give me such 
a deadly twitch back, that I thought he had pulled part of me 
after himself; this made me cry, wretched man! (Rom. vii. 
24.) So I went on my way up the hill. 

Now when I had got about half-way up, I looked behind 
me, and saw one coming after me, swiffc as the wind ; so he 
overtook me just about the place where the settle stands. 

Chr. " Just there," said Christian, " did I sit down to rest 
me ; but, being overcome with sleep, I there lost this roll out 
of my bosom." 

Faith. But, good brother, hear me out : so soon as the man 
overtook me, he was but a word and a blow; for down he 
knocked me, and laid me for dead. But when I was a little 
come to myself again, I asked him wherefore he served me 
so ? he said, because of my secret inclining to Adam the 
first ; and with that he struck me another deadly blow on the 
breast, and beat me down backward, so I lav at his foot as 




w 



dead as before. So when I came to myself again, I cried 
him mercy ; but tie said, " I know not how to shew mercy," 
and with that knocked me down again. He had doubtless 



OO IS SAVED BY CHRIST. 

made an end of me, but that one came by, and bid him 
forbear. 

Chr. Who was that that bid him forbear ? 

Faith. I did not know him at first ; but as he went by, I 
perceived the holes in his hands and in his side ; then I con- 
cluded that he was our Lord. So I went up the hill. 

Che. That man that overtook you was Moses ; he spareth 
none, neither knoweth he how to shew mercy to those that 
transgress his law. 

Faith. I know it very well, it was not the first time that he 
has met with me. 'Twas he that came to me when I dwelt 
securely at home, and that told me he would burn my house 
over my head if I stayed there. 

Chr. But did you not see the house that stood there on the 
top of that hill, on the side of which Moses met you ? 

Faith. Yes, and the lions too, before I came at it ; but for 
the lions, I think they were asleep, for it was about noon ; and 
because I had so much of the day before me, I passed by the 
porter, and came down the hill. 





Chr. He told me, indeed, that he saw you go by ; but I 
wish you had called at the house ; for they would have 
shewed you so many rarities, that you would scarce have 
forgot them to the day of your death. But pray tell me, did 
you meet nobody in the Valley of Humility ? 

Faith. Yes, I met with one Discontent, who would willingly 
have persuaded me to go back again with him ; his reason 
was, for that the valley was altogether without honour. He 
told me, moreover, that there to go was the way to disobey all 
my friends, as Pride, Arrogancy, Selfconceit, Worldlyglory, 
with others, who he knew, as he said, would be very much 
offended if I made such a fool of myself as to wade through 
this valley. 

Chr. Well, and how did you answer him ? 

Faith. I told him that although all these that he named 
might claim kindred of me, and that rightly (for indeed they 
were my relations according to the flesh), yet since I became 



90 



FAITHFUL S MEETING WITH DISCONTENT. 



a pilgrim, they have disowned me, as I also have rejected 
them ; and therefore they were to me now no more than if 
they had never been of my lineage. I told him, moreover, 
that as to this valley he had quite misrepresented the thing ; 
for before honour is humility, and a haughty spirit before a 
fall. Therefore, said I, I had rather go through this valley 
to the honour that was so accounted by the wisest, than 
choose that which he esteemed most worth our affections. 
Che. Met you with nothing else in that valley ? 




IS ASSAULTED BY SHAME. 91 

Faith. Yes ; I met with. Shame : but of all the men that I 
met with in my pilgrimage, he, I think, bears the wrong 
name : the other would be said nay, after a little argumenta- 
tion (and somewhat else), but this bold-faced Shame would 
never have done. 

Chr. Why, what did he say to jQa ? 

Faith. What! why, he objected against religion itself; he 
said it was a pitiful, low, sneaking business for a man to mind 
religion ; he said that a tender conscience was an unmanly 
thing, and that for a man to watch over his words and ways, 
so as to tie up himself from that hectoring liberty that the 
brave spirits of the times accustom themselves unto, would 
make him the ridicule of the times. He objected also, that 
but few of the mighty, rich, or wise, were ever of my opinion 
(1 Cor. i. 26) ; nor any of them neither, before they were 
persuaded to be fools (1 Cor. iii. 18; Phil. iii. 7, 8), and to 
be of a voluntary fondness to venture the loss of all for 
nobody else knows what. He moreover objected the base 
and low estate and condition of those that were chiefly the 
pilgrims of the times in which they lived, also their ignorance 
and want of understanding in all natural science (John vii. 
48). Yea, he did hold me to it at that rate also, about a 
great many more things than here I relate ■; as, that it was a 
shame to sit whining and mourning under a sermon, and a 
shame to come sighing and groaning home. That it was a 
shame to ask my neighbour forgiveness for petty faults, or to 
make restitution where I had taken from any. He said also, 
that religion made a man grow strange to the great because 
of a few vices (which he called by finer names), and made 
him own and respect the base because of the same religious 
fraternity. And is not this, said he, a shame ? 

Chr. And what did you say to him ? 

Faith. Say ! I could not tell what to say at the first. Yea, 
he put me so to it, that my blood came up in my face ; even 
this Shame fetched it up, and had almost beat me quite off. 
But at last I began to consider, that that which is highly 
esteemed among men is had in abomination with God (Luke 



92 FAITHFUL ANSWERS THE ARGUMENTS OF SHAME. 

xvi. 15). And I thought again, this Shame tells me what 
men are, bnt it tells me nothing what God or the word of 
God is. And I thought moreover, that at the day of doom 
we shall not be doomed to death or life according to the 
hectoring spirits of the world, bnt according to the wisdom 
and law of the Highest^ Therefore, thought I, what God 
says is best, indeed is best, though all the men in the world 
are against it. Seeing, then, that God prefers his religion, 
seeing God prefers a tender conscience, seeing they that make 
themselves fools for the kingdom of heaven are wisest, and 
that the poor man that loveth Christ is richer than the greatest 
man in the world that hates him, Shame, depart ; thou art 
an enemy to my salvation : shall I entertain thee against my 
sovereign Lord ? How, then, shall I look him in the face at 
his coming ? Should I now be ashamed of his ways and 
servants, how can I expect the blessing ? (Mark viii. 38.) 
But indeed this Shame was a bold villain ; I could scarce shake 
him out of my company ; yea, he would be haunting of me, 
and continually whispering me in the ear with some one or 
other of the infirmities that attend religion ; but at last I told 
him 'twas but in vain to attempt further in this business, for 
those things that he disdained, in those did I see most glory : 
and so at last I got past this importunate one. And when 
I had shaken him off, then I began to sing : 

" The trials that those men do meet withal 
That are obedient to the heavenly call 
Are manifold, and suited to the flesh, 
And come, and come, and come again afresh ; 
That now, or some time else, we by them may 
Be taken, overcome, and cast away. 
Oh, let the pilgrims, let the pilgrims then 
Be vigilant, and quit themselves like men." 

Chr. I am glad, my brother, that thou didst withstand this 
villain so bravely ; for of all, as thou sayest, I think he has 
the wrong name ; for he is so bold as to follow us in the 
streets, and to attempt to put us to shame before all men ; 




that is, to make us ashamed of that which is good : but if he 
was not himself audacious, he would never attempt to do as 
he does ; but let us still resist him, for notwithstanding all 
his bravadoes, he promoteth the fool, and none else. " The 
wise shall inherit glory," said Solomon ; " but shame shall be 
the promotion of fools" (Prov. iii. 35). 

Faith. I think we must cry "to him for help against Shame, 
that would have us to be valiant for the truth upon the earth. 

Che. Tou say true. But did you meet nobody else in that 
valley ? 

Faith. No, not I ; for I had sunshine all the rest of the 
way through that, and also through the Valley of the Shadow 
of Death. 



£4i THE PILGRIMS ENCOUNTER TALKATIVE. 

Chr. 'Twas well for you ; I am sure it fared far otherwise 
with me. I had for a long season, as soon almost as I 
entered into that valley, a dreadful combat with that foul 
fiend Apollyon. Yea, I thought verily he would have killed 
me ; especially when he got me down, and crushed me under 
him, as if he would have crushed me to pieces. For as he 
threw me, my sword flew out of my hand ; nay, he told me 
he was sure of me : but I cried to God, and he heard me, 
and delivered me out of all my troubles. Then I entered 
into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and had no light 
for almost half the way through it. I thought I should have 
been killed there over and over ; but at last day brake, and 
the sun rose, and I wents, through that which was behind with 
far more ease and quiet. 

Moreover I saw in my dream, that as they went on, Faith- 
ful, as he chanced to look on one side, saw a man whose name 
is Talkative walking at a distance beside them (for in this 
place there was room enough for them all to walk). He was 
a tall man, and something* more comely at a distance than at 
hand. To this man Faithful addressed himself in this manner. 

Faith. Friend, whither away ? Are you going to the 
heavenly country ? 

Talk. I am going to that same place. 

Faith. That is well ; then I hope we may have your good 
company. 

Talk. -With a very good will will I be your companion. 

Faith. Come on, then, and let us go together, and let us 
spend our time in discoursing of things that are profitable. 

Talk. To talk of things that are good, to me is very ac- 
ceptable, with you or with any other ; and I am glad that I 
have met with those that incline to so good a work. 
For, to speak the truth, there are but few that care thus to 
spend their time (as they are in their travels), but choose 
much rather to be speaking of things to no profit ; and this 
hath been a trouble to me. 

Faith. That is indeed a thing to be lamented ; for what 
things so worthy of the use of the tongue and mouth of men 
on earth, as are the things of the God of heaven ? 




"Ml 






WM 







Talk. I like you wonderful well, for your saying is full of 
conviction ; and I will add, what thing is so pleasant, and 
what so profitable, as to talk of the things of God ? 

What things so pleasant ? (that is, if a man hath any 
delight in things that are wonderful,) for instance, if a man 
doth delight to talk of the history or the mystery of things, 
or if a man doth love to talk of miracles, wonders, or signs, 
where shall he find things recorded so delightful, and so 
sweetly penned, as in the holy Scripture ? 

Faith. That's true ; but to be profited by such things in 
our talk should be that which we design. 

Talk. That is it that I said ; for to talk of such things is 
most profitable, for by so doing, a man may get knowledge of 
many things, as of the vanity of earthly things, and the 
benefit of things above (thus in general) : but more par- 
ticularly, by this a man may learn the necessity of the new 
birth, the insufficiency of our works^, the need of Christ's 



96 CHRISTIAN EXPOSES TALKATIVE. 

righteousness, &c. Besides, by this a man may learn what it 
is to repent, to believe, to pray, to suffer, or the like ; by this 
also a man may learn what are the great promises and con- 
solations of the Gospel, to his own comfort. Further, by this 
a man may learn to refute false opinions, to vindicate the 
truth, and also to instruct the ignorant. 

Faith. All this is true, and glad am I to hear these things 
from you. 

Talk. Alas ! the want of this is the cause that so few 
understand the need of faith and the necessity of a work of 
grace in their soul in order to eternal life, but ignorantly live 
in the works of the law, by which a man can by no means 
obtain the kingdom of heaven. 

Faith. But, by your leave, heavenly knowledge of these is 
the gift of God ; no man attaineth to them by human industry, 
or only by the talk of them. 

Talk. All this I know very well, for a man can receive 
nothing except it be given him from heaven, — all is of grace, 
not of works ; I could give you an hundred scriptures for the 
confirmation of this. 

Faith. " Well, then," said Faithful, " what is that one thing 
that we shall at this time found our discourse upon?" 

Talk. What you will : I will talk of things heavenly, or 
things earthly ; things moral, or things evangelical ; things 
sacred, or things profane ; things past, or things to come ; 
things foreign, or things at home ; things more essential, or 
things circumstantial ; provided that all be done to our profit. 

Faith. Now did Faithful begin to wonder ; and stepping 
to Christian (for he walked all this while by himself), he said 
to him (but softly), " What a brave companion have we got ! 
Surely this man will make a very excellent pilgrim." 

Chr. At this Christian modestly smiled, and said, " This 
man with whom you are so taken will beguile with this tongue 
of his twenty of them that know him not." 

Faith. Do you know him, then ? 

Chr. Know him ! Yes, better than he knows himself. 

Faith. Pray, what is he ? 

Chr. His name is Talkative, he dwelleth in our town : 1 



TALKATIVE S PARENTAGE. 



97 



will 
any 



wonder that you should be 
a stranger to him, only I 
consider that our town is 
large. 

Faith. Whose son is he? 
And whereabout doth he 
dwell? 

Chr. He is the son 01 one 
Say- well ; he dwelt in Prating- 
row, and he is known of all 
that are acquainted with him 
by the name of Talkative in 
Prating-row ; and notwith- 
standing his fine tongue, he 
is but a sorry fellow. 

Faith. Well, he seems to 
be a very pretty man. 

Chr. That is, to them that 
have not thorough acquaint- 
ance with him, for he is best 
abroad, near home he is ugly 
enough : your saying, That he 
is a pretty man, brings to my 
mind what I have observed 
in the work of the painter, 
whose pictures showed best 
at a distance, but very near, 
more unpleasing. 

Faith. But I am ready to 
think you do but jest, because 
you smiled. 

Chr. God forbid that I 

should jest (though I smiled) 

in this matter, or that I 

should accuse any falsely; I 

give you a further discovery of him. This man is for 

company, and for any talk ; as he talketh now with you, 

o 




98 



TALKATIVE 'S TRUE CHARACTER. 



so will lie talk when he is on the ale-bench; and the more 
drink he hath in his crown, the more of these things he hath 
in his mouth : religion hath no place in his heart, or house, or 
conversation ; all he hath lieth in his tongue, and his religion 
is to make a noise therewith. 

Faith. Say you so ! Then am I in this man greatly 
deceived. 

Chr. Deceived! you may be sure of it. Remember the 
proverb, They say, and do not ; but the kingdom of God is 
not in word, but in power (Matt, xxiii. 3 ; 1 Cor. iv. 20). He 
talketh of prayer, of repentance, of faith, and of the new 
birth ; but he knows but only to talk of them. I have been 
in his family, and have observed him both at home and 



-S ,-- 





%t<~A 



V 



abroad ; 

what I 

is the truth. His 
\^y^f^" house is as empty 

of religion as the 

white of an egg is of 
savour. There is there neither prayer nor sign of repentance 
for sin ; yea, the brute in his kind serves God far better than 
he. He is the very stain, reproach, and shame of religion to 
all that know him (Rom. ii. 23, 24) ; it can hardly have a good 
word in all that end of the town where he dwells, through 
him. Thus say the common people that know him : "A 
saint abroad, and a devil at home ;" his poor family finds 
it so, he is such a churl, such a railer at, and so unreason- 
able with his servants, that they neither know how to do for 
or speak to him. Men that have any dealings with him, say 



100 DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SATING AND DOING. 

'tis better to deal with, a Turk than with him, for fairer 
dealing they shall have at their hands. This Talkative, if it 
be possible, will go beyond them, defraud, beguile, and over- 
reach them. Besides, he brings up his sons to follow his 
steps ; and if he findeth in any of them a foolish timorous- 
ness (for so he calls the first appearance of a tender con- 
science), he calls them fools and blockheads, and by no 
means will employ them in much, or speak to their com- 
mendations before others. For my part, I am of opinion, 
that he has by his wicked life caused many to stumble and 
fall; and will be, if God prevent not, the ruin of many 
more. 

Faith. Well, my brother, I am bound to believe you ; not 
only because you say you know him, but also because like a 
Christian you make your reports of men. For I cannot think 
that you speak these things of ill will, but because it is even 
so as you say. 

Chr. Had I known him no more than you, I might per- 
haps have thought of him as at the first you did ; yea, had he 
received this report at their hands only that are enemies to 
religion, I should have thought it had been a slander (a lot 
that often falls from bad men's mouths upon good men's 
names and professions) ; but all these things, yea, and a great 
many more as bad, of my own knowledge I can prove him 
guilty of. Besides, good men are ashamed of him, they can 
neither call him brother nor friend ; the very naming of him 
among them makes them blush, if they know him. 

Faith. "Well, I see that saying and doing are two things, 
and hereafter I shall better observe this distinction. 

Chr. They are two things indeed, and are as diverse as are 
the soul and the body ; for as the body without the soul is but 
a dead carcase, so saying, if it be alone, is but a dead carcase 
also. The soul of religion is the practick part ; pure religion 
and undefiled, before Cod and the Father, is this : to visit the 
fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself 
unspotted from the world (James i. 22-27). This Talkative is 
not aware of; he thinks that hearing and saying will make a 
good Christian, and thus he deceiveth his own soul. Hearing 



l 



FRUIT ONLY REGARDED IN THE HARVEST. 

is but as the sowing of the seed ; talking 
is not sufficient to prove that fruit is 
indeed in the heart and life ; and let us 
assure ourselves, that at the day of doom 
men shall be judged according to their 
fruits (Matt. xiii. and xxv.). It will not 
be said then, Did you believe ? but, Were 
you doers, or talkers only? and accord- 
ingly shall they be judged. The end of 
the world is compared to our harvest, and 
you know men at harvest regard nothing 
but fruit. Not that anything can be 
accepted that is not of faith ; but I speak 
this to show you how insignificant the 
profession of Talkative will be at that 
day. 

Faith. This brings to my mind that of 
Moses, by which he describeth the beast 
that is clean (Levit. xi. ; Deut. xiv.). He 
is such a one that parteth the hoof and 
cheweth the cud ; not that parteth the 
hoof only, or that cheweth the cud only. 
The hare cheweth the cud, but yet is 
unclean, because he parteth not the hoof. 
And this truly resembleth Talkative, he 
cheweth the cud, he seeketh knowledge, 



101 




102 



THET TAKE COUNSEL 



lie cheweth upon the word, but he divideth not the hoof, he 
parteth not with the way of sinners ; but, as the hare, he 
retaineth the foot of a dog, or bear, and therefore is unclean. 




Che. You have spoken, for aught I know, the true Gospel 
sense of those texts, and I will add another thing. Paul 
calleth some men, yea, and those great talkers too, sounding 
brass and tinkling cymbals ; that is, as he expounds them in 
another place, things without life giving sound (1 Cor. xiii. 
1-3 ; xiv. 7). Things without life, that is, without the true 
faith and grace of the Gospel ; and consequently, things that 
shall never be placed in the kingdom of heaven among those 
that are the children of life ; though their sound, by their 
talk, be as if it were the tongue or voice of an angel. 

Faith. Well, I was not so fond of his company at first, but 
I am as sick of it now. What shall we do to be rid of him ? 

Chr. Take my advice, and do as I bid you, and you shall 
find that he will soon be sick of your company too, except 



TO RID THEMSELVES OF TALKATIVE. 



103 



God shall touch his heart, and 
turn it. 

Faith. What would you have 
me to do ? 

Chr. Why, go to him, and 
enter into some serious discourse 
about the power of religion ; 
and ask him plainly (when he 
has approved of it, for that he 
will) whether this thing be set 
up in his heart, house, or con- 
versation. 

Faith. Then Faithful stepped 
forward again, and said to Talka- 
tive : Come, what cheer ? how is 
it now ? 

Talk. Thank you, well. I 
thought we should have had a 
great deal of talk by this time. 

Faith. Well, if you will, we 
will fall to it now; and since 
you left it with me to state the 
question, let it be this : how 
doth the saving grace of God 
discover itself, when it is in the 
heart of man ? 

Talk. I perceive, then, that our talk must be about the 
power of things ; well, 'tis a very good question, and I shall 
be willing to answer you. And take my answer in brief, thus. 
First, where the grace of God is in the heart, it causeth there 
a great outcry against sin. Secondly — 

Faith. Nay, hold ; let us consider of one at once : I think 
you should rather say, it shews itself by inclining the soul to 
abhor its sin. 

Talk. Why, what difference is there between crying out 
against, and abhorring of, sin ? 

Faith. Oh ! a great deal ; a man may cry out against sin of 
policy; but he cannot abhor it but by virtue of a Godly 




104 FAITHFUL PEOPOSES A QUESTION TO TALKATIVE. 

antipathy against it ; I have heard many cry out against sin 
in the pulpit, who yet can abide it well enough in the heart, 
and house, and conversation. Joseph's mistress cried out 
with a loud voice, as if she had been very holy ; but she 
would willingly, notwithstanding that, have committed un- 
cleanness with him (Gen. xxxix. 15). Some cry out against 
sin, even as the mother cries out against her child in her lap, 
when she calleth it slut and naughty girl, and then falls to 
hugging and kissing it. 

Talk. You lie at the catch, I perceive. 

Faith. No, not I ; I am only for setting things right. But 
what is the second thing whereby you would prove a discovery 
of a work of grace in the heart ? 

Talk. Great knowledge of Gospel mysteries. 

Faith. This sign should have been first ; but, first or last, it 
is also false ; for knowledge, great knowledge may be obtained 
in the mysteries of the Gospel, and yet no work of grace in 
the soul (1 Cor. xiii.). Yea, if a man have all knowledge, he 
may yet be nothing, and so consequently be no child of God. 
When Christ said, Do you know all these things? and the 
disciples had answered yes, He addeth, Blessed are ye if ye 
do them. He doth not lay the blessing in the knowing of 
them, but in the doing of them. For there is a knowledge 
that is not attended with doing : he that knoweth his Master's 
will, and doth it not. A man may know like an angel, and 
yet be no Christian ; therefore your sign of it is not true. 
Indeed, to know is a thing that pleaseth talkers and boasters ; 
but to do is that which pleaseth God. Not that the heart can 
be good without knowledge, for without that the heart is 
naught : there is, therefore, knowledge and knowledge. 
Knowledge that resteth in the bare speculation of things, 
and knowledge that is accompanied with the grace of faith 
and love, which puts a man upon doing even the will of God 
from the heart : the first of these will serve the talker, but 
without the other the true Christian is not content. Give me 
understanding and I shall keep Thy law ; yea I shall observe 
it with my whole heart (Psal. cxix. 34). 

Talk. You lie at the catch again ; this is not for edification. 



.$ 












IM 






Faith. Well, if yon please, propound another sign how this 
work of grace discovereth itself where it is. 

Talk. Not I ; for I see we shall not agree. 

Faith. Well, if yon will not, will yon give me leave to do 
it? 

P 



106 SIGNS OF A WORK OF GRACE. 

Talk. You may use your liberty. 

Faith. A work of grace in the soul discovereth itself 
either to him that hath it, or to standers-by. To him that 
hath it, thus : it gives him conviction of sin, especially of the 
defilement of his nature, and the sin of unbelief (for the sake 
of which he is sure to be damned, if he findeth not mercy at 
God's hand by faith in Jesus Christ). This sight and sense 
of things worketh in him sorrow and shame for sin ; he findeth 
moreover revealed in him the Saviour of the world, and the 
absolute necessity of closing with him for life, at the which 
he findeth hungerings and thirstings after him, to which 
hungerings, &c. the promise is made. Now according to the 
strength or weakness of his faith in his Saviour, so is his 
joy and peace, so is his love to holiness, so are his desires to 
know him more, and also to serve him in this world. But 
though I say it discovereth itself thus unto him, yet it is but 
seldom that he is able to conclude that this is a work of grace, 
because his corruptions now, and his abused reason, make his 
mind to misjudge in this matter ; therefore in him that hath 
this work there is required a very sound judgment before he 
can with steadiness conclude that this is a work of grace.* 

To others it is thus discovered : 

1. By an experimental confession of his faith in Christ. 2. 
By a life answerable to that confession, to wit, a life of 
holiness, — heart-holiness, family-holiness (if he hath a family), 
and by conversation-holiness in the world ; which, in the 
general, teacheth him inwardly to abhor his sin, and himself 
for that in secret, to suppress it in his family, and to promote 
holiness in the world ; not by talk only, as an hypocrite or 
talkative person may do, but by a practical subjection in faith 
and love to the power of the word.f And now, sir, as to this 
brief description of the work of grace, and also the discovery 
of it, if you have aught to object, object ; if not, then give 
me leave to propound to you a second question. 

* John xvi. 8, 9 ; Rom. vii. 24 ; Mark xvi. 16 ; Ps. xxxviii. 18 ; Jer. xxxi. 
19; Gal. ii. 16; Acts iv. 12; Matt. v. 6; Rev. xxi. 6; Rom. x. 10; Phil, 
iii. 17 ; Matt. v. 8. 

f Johnxiv. 15; Ps. 1. 23; Job. xlii. 5, 6; Ezek. xx. 43. 



APPLIES THEM TO TALKATIVE's CONSCIENCE. 



107 



Talk. Nay, my part is not now to object, but to hear; let 
me, therefore, have your second question. 

Faith. It is this : Do you experience the first part of this 
description of it ? and doth your life and conversation testify 
the same ? or standeth your religion in word or in tongue, 
and not in deed and truth ? Pray, if you incline to answer me 
in this, say no more than you know the God above will say 
amen to, and also nothing but what your conscience can justify 
you in ; for not he that commendeth himself is approved, but 
whom the Lord commendeth. Besides, to say I am thus, and 




108 TALKATIVE OFFENDED, TURNS AWAY. 

thus, when my conversation and all my neighbours tell me I 
lie, is great wickedness. 

Talk. Then Talkative at first began to blush, but recovering 
himself, thus he replied : " You come now to experience, to 
conscience, and God, and to appeal to him for justification of 
what is spoken. This kind of discourse I did not expect, nor 
am I disposed to give an answer to such questions, because I 
count not myself bound thereto, unless you take upon you to 
be a catechiser ; and though you should so do, yet I may refuse 
to make you my judge. But I pray, will you tell me why you 
ask me such questions ?" 

Faith. Because I saw you forward to talk, and because I 
knew not that you had aught else but notion. Besides, to 
tell you all the truth, I have heard of you, that you are a 
man whose religion lies in talk, and that your conversation 
gives this your mouth-profession the lie. They say you are a 
spot among Christians, and that religion fareth the worse for 
your ungodly conversation, — that some already have stumbled 
at your wicked ways, and that more are in danger of being- 
destroyed thereby ; your religion, and an ale-house, and 
covetousness, and uncleanness, and swearing, and lying, and 
vain company-keeping, &c. will stand together. The proverb 
is true of you which is said of a whore, to wit, that she is a 
shame to all women ; so you are a shame to all professors. 

Talk. Since you are ready to take up reports, and to 
judge so rashly as you do, I cannot but conclude you are 
some peevish or melancholy man, not fit to be discoursed 
with, and so adieu. 

Che. Then came up Christian, and said to his brother, " I 
told you how it would happen ; your words and his lusts could 
not agree ; he had rather leave your company than reform his 
life : but he is gone, as I said, — let him go ; the loss is no 
man's but his own ; he has saved us the trouble of going from 
him ; for he continuing, as I suppose he will do, as he is, he 
would have been but a blot in our company ; besides, the 
Apostle says, from such withdraw thyself." 

Faith. But I am glad we had this little discourse with him ; 
it may happen that he will think of it again : however, I 



Pgjjg&SL 




have dealt plainly with him, and so am clear of his blood if 
he perisheth. 

Chr. You did well to talk so plainly to him as yon did ; 
there is but little of this faithful dealing with men now-a-days, 
and that makes religion to stink in the nostrils of many as it 
doth ; for they are these talkative fools whose religion is only 
in word, and are debauched and vain in their conversation, 



110 EVANGELIST OVERTAKES THEM. 

that (being so much admitted into the fellowship of the 
godly) do stumble the world, blemish Christianity, and grieve 
the sincere. I wish that all men would deal with such as 
you have done ; then should they either be made more com- 
formable to religion, or the company of saints would be too 
hot for them. 

Then did Faithful say : 

" How Talkative at first lifts up his plumes ! 
How bravely doth, he speak ! how he presumes 
To drive down all before him ! but so soon 
As Faithful talks of heart-work, like the moon 
That's past the full, into the wane he goes ; 
And so will all but he that heart- work knows." 

Thus they went on talking of what they had seen by the 
way ; and so made that way easy, which would otherwise no 
doubt have been tedious to them, for now they went through 
a wilderness. 

Now when they were got almost quite out of this wilder- 
ness, Faithful chanced to cast his eye back, and espied one 
coming after them, and he knew him. " Oh ! " said Faithful 
to his brother, "who comes yonder?" Then Christian 
looked, and said, " It is my good friend Evangelist." "Ay, 
and my good friend too," said Faithful ; " for 'twas he that 
set me the way to the gate." ISTow was Evangelist come up 
unto them, and thus saluted them : 

Evan. Peace be with you, dearly beloved, and peace be to 
your helpers. 

Chr. Welcome, welcome, my good Evangelist ; the sight 
of thy countenance brings to my remembrance thy ancient 
kindness and unwearied labouring for my eternal good. 

Faith. "And a thousand times welcome," said good 
Faithful ; " thy company, O sweet Evangelist, how desirable 
is it to us poor pilgrims ! " 

Evan. Then said Evangelist, " How hath it fared with you, 
my friends, since the time of our last parting ? what have 
you met with, and how have you behaved yourselves ? " 

Then Christian and Faithful told him of all things that 



HIS EARNEST EXHORTATION. 



Ill 



had happened to them in the way ; and how, and with what 
difficulty, they had arrived to that place. 

Evan. " Right glad am I," said Evangelist ; " not that yon 
met with trials, bnt that yon have been victors, and for that 
yon have (notwithstanding many weaknesses) continued in 
the way to this very day. I say, right glad am I of this 
thing, and that for mine own sake and yours ; I have sowed, 
and yon have reaped, and the day is coming when both he 




that sowed and they that reaped shall rejoice together — that 
is, if you hold out ; for in due time ye shall reap, if you faint 
not. The crown is before you, and it is an incorruptible one ; 
so run that you may obtain it. Some there be that set out 
for this crown, and after they have gone far for it, another 
comes in, and takes it from them ! Hold fast, therefore, that 
you have ; let no man take your crown ;* you are not yet out 

* John iv. 36; Gal. vi. 9 ; 1 Cor. ix. 24-27; Rev. iii. 11. 



112 HE FORETELLS THEIR APPROACHING TRIALS. 

of the gun-shot of the devil; you have not resisted unto 
blood, striving against sin. Let the kingdom be always 
before you, and believe steadfastly concerning things that are 
invisible. Let nothing that is on this side the other world 
get within you ; and, above all, look well to your own hearts, 
and to the lusts thereof, for they are deceitful above all 
things, and desperately wicked ; set your faces like a flint, 
you have all power in heaven and earth on your side." 

Then Christian thanked him for his exhortation, but told 
him withal, that they would have him speak further to them, 
for their help the rest of the way ; and the rather, for that 
they well knew that he was a prophet, and could tell them 
of things that might happen unto them ; and also how they 
might resist and overcome them. To which request Faithful 
also consented. So Evangelist began as folio weth : 

Evan. My sons, you have heard in the words of the truth 
of the Gospel, that you must through many tribulations enter 
into the kingdom of heaven. And again, that in every city 
bonds and afflictions abide on you ; and therefore you cannot 
expect that you should go long on your pilgrimage without 
them, in some sort or other. You have found something of 
the truth of these testimonies upon you already, and more 
will immediately follow ; for now, as you see, you are almost 
out of this wilderness, and therefore you will soon come into 
a town that you will by and by see before you : and in that 
town you will be hardly beset with enemies, who will strain 
hard but they will kill you ; and be you sure that one or both 
of you must seal the testimony which you hold with blood ; 
but be you faithful unto death, and the king will give you a 
crown of life. He that shall die there, although his death 
will be unnatural, and his pain perhaps great, he will yet 
have the better of his fellow ; not only because he will be 
arrived at the Celestial City soonest, but because he will 
escape many miseries that the other will meet with in the rest 
of his journey. But when you are come to the town, and 
shall find fulfilled what I have here related, then remember 
your friend, and quit yourselves like men ; and commit the 



THEY COME IN SIGHT OF THE TOWN OF VANITY. 



113 



keeping of your souls to your God in well-doing, as unto a 
faithful Creator. 

Then I saw in my dream, that when they were got out of 
the wilderness, they presently saw a town before them, and 
the name of that town is Vanity ; and at the town there is a 
fair kept, called Vanity- fair ; it is kept all the year long. It 
beareth the name of Vanity- fair, because the town where 'tis 
kept is lighter than vanity ; and also because all that is there 
sold, or that cometh thither, is vanity. As is the saying of 
the wise, All that cometh is vanity (Isa. xl. 17 ; Eccl. i. 2, 14 ; 
ii. 11, 17; xi. 8). 




\l!;\!-:v>\ 



114 VANITY-FAIR. 

This fair is no new erected business, but a thing of ancient 
standing ; I will shew you the original of it. 

Almost five thousand years agone, there were pilgrims 
walking to the Celestial City^ as these two honest persons are ; 
and Beelzebub, Apollyon, and Legion, with their companies, 
perceiving by the path that the pilgrims made, that their way 
to the city lay through this town of Vanity, they contrived 
here to set up a fair ; a fair wherein should be sold of all 
sorts of vanity, and that it should last all the year long, 
Therefore at this fair are all such merchandise sold as houses, 
lands, trades, places, honours, preferments, titles, countries, 
kingdoms ; lusts, pleasures, and delights of all sorts, as 
whores, bawds, wives, husbands, children, masters, servants, 
lives, blood, bodies, souls, silver, gold, pearls, precious stones, 
and what not. 

And moreover at this fair there is at all times to be seen 
jugglings, cheats, games, plays, fools, apes, knaves, and 
rogues, and that of every kind. 

Here are to be seen too, and that for nothing, thefts, 
murders, adulteries, false- swearers, and that of a blood-red 
colour. 

And as in other fairs of less moment there are the several 
rows and streets, under their proper names, where such and 
such wares are vended, so here likewise you have the proper 
places, rows, streets (viz., countries and kingdoms), where 
the wares of this fair are soonest to be found : here is the 
Britain row, the French row, the Italian row, the Spanish 
row, the German row, where several sorts of vanities are to 
be sold. But as in other fairs some one commodity is as 
the chief of all the fair, so the ware of Rome and her mer- 
chandise is greatly promoted in this fair: only our English 
nation, with some others, have taken a dislike thereat. 

ISTow, as I said, the way to the Celestial City lies just 
through this town, where this lusty fair is kept ; and he that 
will go to the city, and yet not go through this town, must 
needs go out of the world (1 Cor. v. 10). The Prince of 
princes himself, when here, went through this town to his 
own country, and that upon a fair-day too ; yea, and as I 




think, it was Beelzebub, the chief lord of this fair, that 
invited him to buy of his vanities ; yea, would have made 
him lord of the fair, would he but have done him reverence 
as he went through the town. Yea, because he was such a 



116 



THEIR PRESENCE CAUSES A HUBBUB IN THE FAIR. 



person of honour, 

Beelzebub had him 

from street to street, 

and shewed him all 

the kingdoms of the 

world in a little time, 

that he might, if 

possible, allure that 

blessed one to 

cheapen and buy 

some of his vani- 
ties. But he had 

no mind to the mer- 
chandise, and there- 
fore left the town 

without laying out 

so much as one 

farthing upon these 

vanities (Matt. iv. 

8 ; Luke iv. 5, 6, 

7). This fair, there- 
fore, is an ancient thing, of long standing, and a very great 
fair. 

Now these pilgrims, as I said, must needs go through this 
fair ; well, so they did ; but behold, even as they entered into 
the fair, all the people in the fair were moved, and the town 
itself as it were in a hubbub about them ; and that for several 
reasons. For — 

Eirst, the pilgrims were clothed with such kind of raiment 
as was diverse from the raiment of any that traded in that 
fair. The people, therefore, of the fair made a great gazing 
upon them ; some said they were fools, some they were 
bedlams, and some they are outlandish men (1 Cor. ii. 7, 8). 

Secondly, and as they wondered at their apparel, so they 
did likewise at their speech, for few could understand what 
they said ; they naturally spoke the language of Canaan, but 
they that kept the fair were the men of this world ; so that 
from one end of the fair to the other, they seemed barbarians 
each to the other. 





THE STREETS OF THE FAIR, 



117 



Thirdly, but that which did not a little amuse the mer- 
chandisers was, that these pilgrims set very light by all their 
wares, they cared not so much as to look upon them ; and if 
they called upon them to buy, they would put their fingers in 







118 THE PILGRIMS ARE APPREHENDED. 

their ears, and cry, " Turn away mine eyes from beholding 
vanity;" and look upwards, signifying that their trade and 
traffic was in heaven (Ps. cxix. 37 ; Phil. iii. 19, 20). 

One chanced mockingly, beholding the carriages of the men, 
to say unto them, "What will ye buy?" but they, looking 
gravely upon him, said, "We buy the truth" (Prov. xxiii. 
23). At that there was an occasion taken to despise the men 
the more ; some mocking, some taunting, some speaking re- 
proachfully, and some calling upon others to smite them. At 
last things came to an hubbub and great stir in the fair, inso- 
much that all order was confounded. Now was word pre- 
sently brought to the great one of the fair, who quickly came 
down, and deputed some of his most trusty friends to take 
these men into examination, about whom the fair was almost 
overturned. So the men were brought to examination ; and 
they that sat upon them, asked them whence they came, 
whither they went, and what they did there in such an 
unusual garb ? The men told them, that they were pilgrims 
and strangers in the world, and that they were going to their 
own country, which was the heavenly Jerusalem (Heb. xi. 
13-16) ; and that they had given none occasion to the men of 
the town, nor yet to the merchandisers, thus to abuse them, 
and to let them in their journey. Except it was, for that, 
when one asked them what they would buy, they said they 
would buy the truth. But they that were appointed to 
examine them did not believe them to be any other than 
bedlams and mad, or else such as came to put all things into a 
confusion in the fair. Therefore they took them and beat 
them, and besmeared them with dirt, and then put them into 
the cage, that they might be made a spectacle to all the men 
of the fair. There, therefore, they lay for some time, and 
were made the objects of any man's sport, or malice, or 
revenge ; the great one of the fair laughing still at all that 
befel them. But the men being patient, and not rendering 
railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing, and giving good 
words for bad, and kindness for injuries done, some men in 
the fair that were more observing and less prejudiced than the 
rest, began to check and blame the baser sort for their con- 




tinual abuses done by them to the men. They, therefore, in 
angry manner, let fly at them again, counting them as bad as 
the men in the cage, and telling them that they seemed con- 
federates, and should be made partakers of their misfortunes. 
The other replied, that for aught they could see, the men 
were quiet and sober, and intended nobody any harm ; and 
that there were many that traded in their fair that were more 
worthy to be put into the cage, yea, and pillory too, than were 
the men that they had abused. Thus after divers words had 
passed on both sides (the men behaving themselves all the 



120 THEY AEE BROUGHT TO TRIAL. 

while very wisely and soberly before them), they fell to some 
blows among themselves, and did harm one to another. Then 
were these two poor men brought before their examiners 
again, and there charged as being guilty of the late hubbub 
that had been in the fair. So they beat them pitifully, and 
hanged irons upon them, and led them in chains up and down 
the fair for an example and a terror to others, lest any should 
further speak in their behalf, or join themselves unto them. 
But Christian and Faithful behaved themselves yet more 
wisely, and received the ignominy and shame that was cast 
upon them with so much meekness and patience, that it won 
to their side (though but few in comparison of the rest) 
several of the men in the fair. This put the other party yet 
into a greater rage, insomuch that they concluded the death 
of these two men. Wherefore they threatened that the cage 
nor irons should serve their turn, but that they should die 
for the abuse they had done, and for deluding the men of the 
fair. 

Then were they remanded to the cage again, until further 
order should be taken with them. So they put them in, and 
made their feet fast in the stocks. 

Here therefore they called again to mind what they had 
heard from their faithful friend Evangelist, and were the more 
confirmed in their way and sufferings by what he told them 
would happen to them. They also now comforted each other, 
that whose lot it was to suffer, even he should have the best 
on't ; therefore each man secretly wished that he might have 
that preferment; but committing themselves to the all- wise 
dispose of Him that ruleth all things, with much content 
they abode in the condition in which they were, until they 
should be otherwise disposed of. 

Then, a convenient time being appointed, they brought 
them forth to their trial, in order to their condemnation. 
"When the time was come, they were brought before their 
enemies and arraigned. The judge's name was Lord Hate- 
good. Their indictment was one and the same in substance, 
though somewhat varying in form ; the contents thereof was 
this : 



, v: m^^ 



mmmmmMmmfm. 

-• : - \ fe 

K; 1, 





That they were enemies to, and dis- 
turbers of, their trade ; that they had 
made commotions and divisions in the 
town, and had won a party to their own 
most dangerous opinions, in contempt 
of the law of their prince. 

Then Faithful began to answer, that 
he had only set himself against that 
which had set itself against Him that 
is higher than the highest. " And," 
said he, " as for disturbance, I make 
none, being myself a man of peace ; the 
parties that were won to us, were won 
by beholding our truth and innocence, 
and they are only turned from the 
worse to the better. And as to the 
king you talk of, since he is Beelzebub, 
the enemy of our Lord, I defy him and 
all his angels." 

Then proclamation was made, that 

R 



122 THE WITNESSES EXAMINED. 

they that had aught to say for their lord the king against the 
prisoner at the bar, should forthwith appear and give in their 
evidence. So there came in three witnesses, to wit, Envy, 
Superstition, and Pickthank. They were then asked, if they 
knew the prisoner at the bar ? and what they had to say for 
their lord the king against him ? 

Then stood forth Envy, and said to this effect : " My lord, I 
have known this man a long time, and will attest upon my 
oath before this honourable bench, that he is — " 
Judge. Hold.; give him his oath. 

So they sware him. Then he said, " My lord, this man, 
notwithstanding his plausible name, is one of the vilest men 
in our country ; he neither regardeth prince nor people, law 
nor custom ; but doth all that he can to possess all men with 
certain of his disloyal notions, which he, in the general, calls 
principles of faith and holiness. And in particular, I heard 
him once myself affirm that Christianity and the customs of 
our town of Yanity were diametrically opposite, and could 
not be reconciled. By which saying, my lord, he doth at 
once, not only condemn all our laudable doings, but us in the 
doing of them." 

Judge. Then did the judge say unto him, " Hast thou any 
more to say?" 

Envy. " My lord, I could say much more, only I would not 
be tedious to the court. Yet, if need be, when the other 
gentlemen have given in their evidence, rather than any thing 
shall be wanting that will despatch him, I will enlarge my 
testimony against him." So he was bid stand by. 

Then they called Superstition, and bid him look upon the 
prisoner ; they also asked, what he could say for their lord 
the king against him ? Then they sware him, so he began. 

Super. My lord, I have no great acquaintance with this 
man, nor do I desire to have farther knowledge of him. 
However, this I know, that he is a very pestilent fellow, from 
some discourse that the other day I had with him in this 
town ; for then, talking with him, I heard him say, that our 
religion was nought, and such by which a man could by no 
means please God ; which sayings of his, my lord, your lord- 




ship very well knows what necessarily thence will follow, to 
wit, that we still do worship in vain, are yet in onr sins, and 
finally shall be damned ; and this is that which I have to say. 

Then was Pickthank sworn, and bid say what he knew in 
behalf of their lord the king against the prisoner at the bar. 

Pick. My lord, and you gentlemen all, this fellow I have 



124 faithful's defence of himself. 

known of a long time, and have heard him speak things that 
ought not to be spoke. For he hath railed on our noble Prince 
Beelzebub, and hath spoke contemptibly of his honourable 
friends, whose names are, the Lord Oldman, the Lord Carnal- 
delight, the Lord Luxurious, the Lord Desire of "Vain-glory, 
my old Lord Lechery, Sir Having Greedy, with all the rest 
of our nobility ; and he hath said moreover, that if all men 
were of his mind, if possible, there is not one of these noble men 
should have any longer a being in this town. Besides, he hath 
not been afraid to rail on you, my lord, who are now ap- 
pointed to be his judge, calling you an ungodly villain, with 
many other such like vilifying terms, with which he hath be- 
spattered most of the gentry of our town. 

When this Pickthank had told his tale, the judge directed 
his speech to the prisoner at the bar, saying, " Thou runagate, 
heretic, and traitor, hast thou heard what these honest gentle- 
men have witnessed against thee ? " 

Faith. May I speak a few words in my own defence ? 
Judge. Sirrah, sirrah, thou deservest to live no longer, but 
to be slain immediately upon the place ; yet that all men may 
see our gentleness towards thee, let us hear what thou, vile 
runagate, hast to say. 

Faith. 1. I say then, in answer to what Mr. Envy hath 
spoken, I never said aught but this, That what rule, or laws, 
or custom, or people, were flat against the word of God, are 
diametrically opposite to Christianity. If I have said amiss 
in this, convince me of my error, and I am ready here before 
you to make my recantation. 

2. As to the second, to wit, Mr. Superstition, and his 
charge against me, I said only this, That in the worship of God 
there is required a divine faith ; but there can be no divine 
faith without a divine revelation of the will of God : therefore 
whatever is thrust into the worship of God that is not agree- 
able to a divine revelation, cannot be done but by a human 
faith ; which faith will not profit to eternal life. 

3. As to what Mr. Pickthank hath said, I say (avoiding 
terms, as that I am said to rail, and the like), That the prince 
of this town, with all the rabblement his attendants, by this 



THE JUDGE S CHAEGE TO THE JURY. 



125 



gentleman named, are more fit for being in hell than in this 
town and country ; and so the Lord have mercy upon me. 

Then the judge called to the jury (who all this while stood 
by, to hear and observe), " Gentlemen of the jury, yon see 
this man about whom so great an uproar hath been made in 
this town ; you have also heard what these worthy gentle- 
men have witnessed against him ; also you have heard his 
reply and confession : it lieth now in your breasts to hang 
him, or save his life j but yet I think meet to instruct you 
into our law. 









"■ . ■ ■ 




" There was an act made in the days of Pharaoh the Great, 
servant to our prince, that lest those of a contrary religion 
should multiply and grow too strong for him, their males 
should be thrown into the river (Exod. i.). There was also 
an act made in the days of Nebuchadnezzar the Great, another 
of his servants, that whoever would not fall down and worship 
his golden image, should be thrown into a fiery furnace (Dan. 



128 faithful's condemnation. 

iii.). There was also an act made in the days of Darius, that 
whoso, for some time, called upon any Grod but his, should be 
cast into the lions' den (Dan. vi.). Now the substance of 
these laws this rebel has broken, not only in thought (which 
is not to be borne), but also in word and deed, which must 
therefore needs be intolerable. 

" For that of Pharaoh, his law was made upon suspicion to 
prevent mischief, no crime yet being apparent ; but here is a 
crime apparent. For the second and third, you see he dis- 
puteth against our religion ; and for the treason he hath con- 
fessed, he deserveth to die the death." 

Then went the jury out, whose names were, Mr. Blind-man, 
Mr. No-good, Mr. Malice, Mr. Love-lust, Mr. Live-loose, Mr. 
Heady, Mr. High-mind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. Liar, Mr. Cruelty, 
Mr. Hate-light, and Mr. Implacable, who every one gave in 
his private verdict against him among themselves, and after- 
wards unanimously concluded to bring him in guilty before 
the judge. And first among themselves, Mr. Blind-man the 
foreman said, " I see clearly that this man is an heretic." 
Then said Mr. No-good, " Away with such a fellow from the 
earth." " Ay," said Mr. Malice, " for I hate the very looks 
of him." Then said Mr. Love-lust, " I could never endure 
him." "Nor I," said Mr. Live-loose, "for he would always 
be condemning my way." " Hang him, hang him," said Mr. 
Heady. "A sorry scrub," said Mr. High-mind. "My heart 
riseth against him," said Mr. Enmity. " He is a rogue," said 
Mr. Liar. " Hanging is too good for him," said Mr. Cruelty. 
" Let's despatch him out of the way," said Mr. Hate-light. 
Then said Mr. Implacable, " Might I have all the world given 
me, I could not be reconciled to him ; therefore let us forth- 
with bring him in guilty of death." And so they did ; 
therefore he was presently condemned to be had from the 
place where he was to the place from whence he came, and 
there to be put to the most cruel death that could be 
invented. 

They therefore brought him out, to do with him according 
to their law ; and first they scourged him, then they buffeted 
him, then they lanced his flesh with knives ; after that they 



HIS MARTYRDOM. 



stoned him with stones, then 
pricked him with their swords, 
and last of all they burned him 
to ashes at the stake. Thus came 
Faithful to his end. Now I saw 
that there stood behind the mul- 
titude a chariot and a couple of 
horses waiting for Faithful, who 
(so soon as his adversaries had 
despatched him) was taken up 
into it, and straightway was 
carried up through the clouds, 
with sound of trumpet, the 
nearest way to the Celestial 
Gate. But as for Christian, he 
had some respite, and was re- 
manded back to prison, so he 
there remained for a space. But 
He that overrules all things, 
having the power of their rage 
in His own hand, so wrought it 
about that Christian, for that 
time, escaped them, and went 
his way. 

And as he went he sang, say- 
ing ; 

"Well, Faithful, thou hast faithfully 

profest 
Unto thy Lord, with whom thou shalt 

be blest, 
When faithless ones, with all their 

vain delight, 
Are crying out under their hellish 

plight. 
Sing, Faithful, sing ; and let thy name 

survive, 
Foi though they kill'd thee, thou art 

yet alive." 

Now I saw in my dream that 



inaou^ 





A#> 'AH 

^ jar™ 



4-: -=^~-\-KV. 



Christian went not 
forth alone, for there 
was one whose name 
was Hopeful (being 
so made by the be- 
holding of Christian 
and Faithful, in their 
words and behaviour, 
in their sufferings at 
the fair), who joined 
himself unto him, 
and entering into a 
brotherly covenant, 
told him that he 
wonld be his com- 
panion. Thns one 
died to bear tes- 



BY-ENDS OF FAIR-SPEECH AND HIS KINDRED 



129 



timony to the truth, and another 
rises out of his ashes to be a com- 
panion with Christian in his pil- 
grimage. This Hopeful also told 
Christian that there were many 
more of the men in the fair that 
would take their time and follow 
after. 

So I saw that, quickly after they 
were got out of the fair, they over- 
took one that was going before 
them, whose name was By-ends ; 
so they said to him, "What country- 
man, sir ? and how far go you this 
way?" He told them that he 
came from the town of Fair- speech, 
and he was going to the Celestial 
City (but told them not his name). 
Chr. " From Fair- speech ! " said 
Christian ; "is there any that be 
good live there?" (Prov. xxvi. 
25.) 

By-ends. "Yes," said By-ends, 
" I hope." 

Chr, " Pray, sir, what may I call 
you ? " said Christian. 
By-ends. I am a stranger to you, and you to me : if you be 
going this way, I shall be glad of your company ; if not, I 
must be content. 

Chr. " This town of Fair- speech," said Christian, " I have 
heard of; and, as I remember, they say it's a wealthy place." 
By-ends. Yes, I will assure you that it is ; and I have very 
many rich kindred there. 

Chr. Pray who are your kindred there, if a man may be 
so bold ? 

By-ends. Almost the whole town ; and in particular my 
Lord Turn-about, my Lord Time-server, my Lord Fair-speech 
(from whose ancestors that town first took its name) ; also 

s 




V)m'M3r «a> 




Mr. Smooth-man, Mr. Facing-both-ways, Mr. Any-thing, and 
the parson of our parish, Mr. Two-tongues, was my mother's 
own brother by father's side. And to tell you the truth, I am 
become a gentleman of good quality ; yet my great-grand- 
father was but a waterman, looking one way and rowing 
another — and I got most of my estate by the same occupa- 
tion. 

Che. Are you a married man ? 

By- ends. Yes ; and my wife is a very virtuous woman, — 
the daughter of a virtuous woman. She was my Lady 
Faining's daughter, therefore she came of a very honourable 
family, and is arrived to such a pitch of breeding, that she 
knows how to carry it to all, even to prince and peasant. Tis 
true we somewhat differ in religion from those of the stricter 
sort, yet but in two small points : First, we never strive 
against wind and tide ; secondly, we are always most zealous 
when religion goes in his silver slippers ; we love much to 
walk with him in the street if the sun shines, and the people 
applaud it. 

Then Christian stepped a little aside to his fellow Hopeful, 
saying, " It runs in my mind that this is one By-ends of Fair- 
spsech, and if it be he, we have as very a knave in our com- 
pany as dwelleth in all these parts." Then said Hopeful, 
" Ask him ; methinks he should not be ashamed of his name." 
So Christian came up with him again, and said : " Sir, you 
talk as if you knew something more than all the world doth ; 
and if I take not my mark amiss, I deem I have half a guess 
of you : Is not your name Mr. By-ends of Fair-speech ?" 



CHRISTIAN UNMASKS BY-ENDS. 



131 




By-ends. That is not my name , 
but indeed it is a nickname that is 
given me by some that cannot abide 
me, and I must be content to bear 
it as a reproach, as other good men 
have borne theirs before me. 

Che. But did yon never give an 
occasion to men to call you by this 
name ? 

By-ends. Never, never! the 
worst that ever I did to give them 
an occasion to give me this name 
was, that I had always the luck 
to jump in my judgment with the 
present way of the times, whatever 
it was, and my chance was to get 
thereby ; but if things are thus 
cast upon me, let me count them a blessing, but let not the 
malicious load me therefore with reproach. 

Che. I thought indeed that you were the man that I had 
heard of, and to tell you what I think, I fear this name 
belongs to you more properly than you are willing we should 
think it doth. 

By-ends. "Well, if you will thus imagine, I cannot help it. 
You shall find me a fair company-keeper, if you will still 
admit me your associate. 

Che. If you will go with us, you must go against wind and 
tide, the which, I perceive, is against your opinion ; you must 
also own religion in his rags as well as when in his silver 
slippers ; and stand by him too when bound in irons, as well 
as when he walketh the streets with applause. 

By-ends. You must not impose, nor lord it over my faith ; 
leave me to my liberty, and let me go with you, 

Che. Not a step farther, unless you will do, in what I pro- 
pound, as we. 

By-ends. Then said By-ends, " I shall never desert my old 
principles, since they are harmless and profitable. If I may 
not go with you, I must do as I did before you overtook me, 



132 



HOLD-THE-WORLD, MONEY-LOVE, AND SAVE-ALL. 



even go by myself, until some overtake me that will be glad 
of my company." 

Now I saw in my dream that Christian and Hopeful for- 
sook him, and kept their distance before him ; but one of them 
looking back, saw three men following Mr. By-ends; and 
behold, as they came up with him, he made them a very low 
congee, and they also gave him a compliment. The men's 
names were, Mr. Hold-the-world, Mr. Money-love, and Mr. 
Save-all, men that Mr. By-ends had formerly been acquainted 
with ; for in their minority they were schoolfellows, and were 
taught by one Mr. Gripe-man, a schoolmaster in Love-gain, 
which is a market-town in the county of Coveting, in the 
north. This schoolmaster taught them the art of getting, 
either by violence, cozenage, flattery, lying, or by putting on 
I a guise of religion ; and these four gentlemen had attained 
much of the art of their master, so that they could each of 
them have kept such a school themselves. 

Well, when they had, as I said, thus saluted each other, 
Mr. Money-love said to Mr. By-ends, " Who are they upon 
the road before us?" For Christian and Hopeful were yet 
within view. 




THEY DISCOURSE ABOUT THE PILGRIMS, 133 

By-ends. They are a couple of far countrymen, that, after 
their mode, are going on pilgrimage. 

Money-love. Alas, why did they not stay, that we might 
have had their good company ; for they, and we, and you, sir, 
I hope, are all going on a pilgrimage ? 

By-ends. We are so, indeed ; but the men before us are so 
rigid, and love so much their own notions, and do also so 
lightly esteem the opinions of others, that let a man be never 
so godly, yet, if he jumps not with them in all things, they 
thrust him quite out of their company. 

Mr. Save-all. That's bad ; but we read of some that are 
righteous over-much, and such men's rigidness prevails with 
them to judge and condemn all but themselves. But I pray 
what and how many were the things wherein you differed ? 

By-ends. Why they, after their headstrong manner, con- 
clude that it is their duty to rush on their journey all weathers, 
and I am for waiting for wind and tide. They are for hazard- 
ing all for God at a clap, and I am for taking all advantages 
to secure my life and estate. They are for holding their 
notions, though all other men be against them ; but I am for 
religion in what, and so far as the times and my safety will 
bear it. They are for religion when in rags and contempt ; 
but I am for him when he walks in his golden slippers in the 
sunshine, and with applause. 

Mr. Hold-the-world. Ay, and hold you there still, good 
Mr. By-ends ; for, for my part, I can count him but a fool, 
that, having the liberty to keep what he has, shall be so 
unwise as to lose it. Let us be wise as serpents ; 'tis best to 
make hay when the sun shines : you see how the bee lieth still 
all winter, and bestirs her only when she can have profit with 
pleasure. God sends sometimes rain, and sometimes sunshine ; 
if they be such fools to go through the first, yet let us be 
content to take fair weather along with us. For my part, I 
like that religion best that will stand with the security of 
God's good blessings unto us ; for who can imagine, that is 
ruled by his reason, since God has bestowed upon us the good 
things of this life, but that He would have us keep them for 
His sake ? Abraham and Solomon grew rich in religion. 



'''f'i 







And Job says, " That a good man shall lay np gold as dust." 
Bnt he mnst not be snch as the men before us, if they be as 
yon have described them. 

Me. Save-all. I think that we are all agreed in this matter, 
and therefore there needs no more words abont it. 

Me. Money-love. No, there needs no more words abont 
this matter indeed ; for he that believes neither Scripture nor 
reason (and yon see we have both on our side), neither knows 
his own liberty, nor seeks his own safety. 

Me. By-ends. My brethren, we are, as yon see, going all on 
pilgrimage ; and for onr better diversion from things that are 
bad, give me leave to propound unto you this question : 



EY-ENDS' QUESTION AND MONEY-LOYE's ANSWEK. 135 

Suppose a man — a minister, or a tradesman, &c. — should 
have an advantage lie before him to get the good blessings of 
this life, yet so as that he can by no means come by them 
except, in appearance at least, he becomes extraordinary 
zealous in some points of religion that he meddled not with 
before ; may he not use this means to attain his end, and yet 
be a right honest man ? 

Mr. Money-love. I see the bottom of your question, and, 
with these gentlemen's good leave, I will endeavour to shape 
you an answer. And first, to speak to your question as it 
concerns a minister himself: Suppose a minister, a worthy 
man, possessed but of a very small benefice, and has in his 
eye a greater, more fat and plump by far ; he has also now an 
opportunity of getting of it ; yet so as by being more studious, 
by preaching more frequently and zealously, and, because the 
temper of the people requires it, by altering of some of his 
principles ; for my part, I see no reason but a man may do 
this (provided he has a call). Ay, and more a great deal 
besides, and yet be an honest man. For why ? 

1. His desire of a greater benefice is lawful (this cannot be 
contradicted), since 'tis set before him by Providence ; so, 
then, he may get it if he can, making no question for con- 
science sake. 

2. Besides, his desire after that benefice makes him more 
studious, a more zealous preacher, &c, and so makes him a 
better man. Yea, makes him better improve his parts, which 
is according to the mind of God. 

3. Now as for his complying with the temper of his people 
by dissenting, to serve them, some of his principles, this 
argueth, 1st, that he is of a self-denying temper ; 2nd, of a 
sweet and winning deportment ; 3rd, and so more fit for the 
ministerial function. 

4. I conclude then, that a minister that changes a small for 
a great, should not for so doing be judged as covetous, but 
rather, since he is improved in his parts and industry thereby, 
be counted as one that pursues his call, and the opportunity 
put into his hand to do good. 

And now to the second part of the question, which concerns 




tlie tradesman yon mentioned : Snppose snch an one to have 
bnt a poor employ in the world, bat by becoming religions he 
may mend his market, perhaps get a rich wife, or more and 
far better cnstomers to his shop. For my part, I see no reason 
bnt that this may be lawfully done. For why, 



money-love's answer. 



137 



1. To become religious is a virtue, by what means soever a 
man becomes so. 

2. Nor is it unlawful to get a rich, wife, or more custom to 
my shop. 

3. Besides, the man that gets these by becoming religious, 
gets that which is good of them that are good, by becoming 
good himself; so, then, here is a good wife, and good cus- 
tomers, and good gain, and all these by becoming religious, 
which is good. Therefore, to become religious, to get all 
these, is a good and profitable design. 

This answer, thus made by this Mr. Money-love to Mr. By- 
ends' question, was highly 
applauded by them all; 
wherefore they concluded 
upon the whole, that it 
was most wholesome and 
advantageous. And be- 
cause, as they thought, no 
man was able to contradict 
it, and because Christian 
and Hopeful were yet 
within call, they joyfully 
agreed to assault them 
with the question as soon 
as they overtook them, and 
the rather because they 
had opposed Mr. By-ends 
before. So they called 
after them, and they stopt, 
and stood still till they 
came up to them ; but they 
concluded as they went, 
that not Mr. By-ends, but 
old Mr. Hold-the-world, 
should propound the ques- 
tion to them, because, as 
they supposed, their answer 
to him would be without 

T 




138 THE QUESTION PROPOUNDED TO CHRISTIAN. 

the remainder of that heat that was kindled betwixt Mr. 
By-ends and them at their parting a little before. 

So they came up to each other ; and after a short salutation, 
Mr. Hold-the- world propounded the question to Christian and 
his fellow, and bid them to answer if they could. 

Chr. Then said Christian, " Even a babe in religion may 
answer ten thousand such questions. For if it be unlawful to 
follow Christ for loaves, as it is (John vi.), how much more 
abominable is it to make of Him and religion a stalking-horse 
to get and enjoy the world ! Nor do we find any other than 
heathens, hypocrites, devils, and witches, that are of this 
opinion. 

"1. Heathens, for when Hamor and Shechem had a mind 
to the daughter and cattle of Jacob, and saw that there was 
no ways for them to come at them, but by becoming circum- 
cised, they say to their companions : ' If every male of us be 
circumcised, as they are circumcised, shall not their cattle, 
and their substance, and every beast of theirs be ours?' 
Their daughters and their cattle were that which they sought 
to obtain, and their religion the stalking-horse they made use 
of to come at them. Read the whole story (Gen. xxxiv. 
20-23). 

"2. The hypocritical Pharisees were also of this religion ; 
long prayers were their pretence, but to get widows' houses 
were their intent ; and greater damnation was from God their 
judgment (Luke xx. 46, 47). 

"3. Judas the devil was also of this religion ; he was 
religious for the bag, that he might be possessed of what 
was therein ; but he was lost, cast away, and the very son of 
perdition. 

" 4. Simon the witch was of this religion too ; for he would 
have had the Holy Ghost, that he might have got money there^ 
with, and his sentence from Peter's mouth was according 
(Acts viii. 19-22). 

"5. Neither will it out of my mind, but that that man that 
takes up religion for the world will throw away religion for 
the world ; for so surely as Judas designed the world in 
becoming religious, so surely did he also sell religion and his 




Master for the same. To answer the question therefore 
affirmatively, as I perceive yon have done, and to accept of 
as authentic such answer, is both heathenish, hypocritical, 
and devilish, and your reward will be according to your 
works." 

Then they stood staring One upon another, but had not 
wherewith to answer Christian. Hopeful also approved of 
the soundness of Christian's answer, so there was a great 
silence among them. Mr. By-ends and his company also 
staggered, and kept behind, that Christian and Hopeful might 
outgo them. Then said Christian to his fellow, " If these 
men cannot stand before the sentence of men, what will they 



140 THE HILL CALLED LUCRE. 

do with the sentence of God ? and if they are mute when 
dealt with by vessels of clay, what will they do when they 
shall be rebuked by the flames of a devouring fire ?" 

Then Christian and Hopeful out-went them again, and 
went till they came at a delicate plain, called Ease, where 
they went with much content ; but that plain was but narrow, 
so they were quickly got over it. Now at the further side of 
that plain was a little hill called Lucre, and in that hill a 
silver-mine, which some of them that had formerly gone that 
~way, because of the rarity of it, had turned aside to see ; but 
going too near the brink of the pit, the ground being deceit- 
ful under them, broke, and they were slain : some also had 
been maimed there, and could not to their dying day be their 
own men again. 

Then I saw in my dream, that a little off the road, over 
against the silver-mine, stood Demas (gentlemanlike), to call 
to passengers to come and see ; who said to Christian and 
his fellow, " Ho, turn aside hither, and I will shew you a 
thing." 

Chr. What thing so deserving as to turn us out of the way 
to see it ? 

Demas. Here is a silver- mine, and some digging in it for 
treasure ; if you will come, with a little pains you may richly 
provide for yourselves. 

Hope. Then said Hopeful, " Let us go see." 

Chr. " Not I," said Christian ; " I have heard of this place 
before now, and how many have there been slain ; and besides, 
that treasure is a snare to those that seek it, for it hindereth 
them in their pilgrimage." Then Christian called to Demas, 
saying, " Is not the place dangerous ? hath it not hindered 
many in their pilgrimage ?" (Hos. iv. 18.) 

Demas. " Not very dangerous, except to those that are 
careless ;" but withal, he blushed as he spake. 

Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful, "Let us not stir a 
step, but still keep on our way." 

Hope. I will warrant you, when By-ends comes up, if he 
hath the same invitation as we, he will turn in thither to 
see. 




Chr. No doubt thereof, for his principles lead him that way, 
and a hundred to one but he dies there. 

Demas. Then Demas called again, saying, " But will you 
not come over and see ? " 

Chr. Then Christian roundly answered, saying, "Demas, 
thou art an enemy to the right ways of the Lord of this way, 
and hast been already condemned for thiae own turning aside 
by one of his Majesty's judges ; and why seekest thou to 
bring us into the like condemnation?" (2 Tim. iv. 10.) 
"Besides, if we at all turn aside, our Lord the King will 
certainly hear thereof, and will there put us to shame, where 
we would stand with boldness before him." 

Demas cried again, That he also was one of their fraternity ; 
and that if they would tarry a little, he also himself would 
walk with them. 

Chr. Then said Christian, " What is thy name ? is it not 
the same by the which I have called thee ?" 

Demas. Yes, my name is Demas ; I am the son of Abraham. 

Chr. I know you ; Grehazi was your great-grandfather, and 
Judas your father, and you have trod their steps. It is but a 
devilish prank that thou usest : thy father was hanged for a 



142 THE MONUMENT OP LOT'S WIFE. 

traitor, and thou deservest no better reward.* Assure thyself, 
that when we come to the King, we will do him word of this 
thy behaviour. 

Thus they went their way. 

By this time By-ends and his companions were come again 
within sight, and they at the first beck went over to Demas. 
Now, whether they fell into the pit by looking over the brink 
thereof, or whether they went down to dig, or whether they 
were smothered in the bottom by the damps that commonly 
arise, of these things I am not certain ; but this I observed, 
that they never were seen again in the way. Then sang 
Christian, 

" By-ends and Silver-Demas Tx>th agree; 
One calls, the other runs, that he may be 
A sharer in his lucre : so these two 
Take up in this world, and no farther go." 

!Now I saw that, just on the other side of this plain, the 
pilgrims came to a place where stood an old monument hard 
by the highway- side, at the sight of which they were both 
concerned, because of the strangeness of the form thereof; 
for it seemed to them as if it had been a woman transformed 
into the shape of a pillar ; here, therefore, they stood looking 
and looking upon it,*but could not for a time tell what they 
should make thereof. At last, Hopeful espied written above 
upon the head thereof a writing in an unusual hand ; but he 
being no scholar called to Christian (for he was learned) to 
see if he could pick out the meaning ; so he came, and after a 
little laying of letters together, he found the same to be this, 
" Remember Lot's wife." So he read it to his fellow; after 
which, they both concluded, that that was the pillar of salt 
into which Lot's wife was turned for her looking back with a 
covetous heart when she was going from Sodom for safety 
(Gen. xix. 26), which sudden and amazing sight gave them 
occasion of this discourse. 

Chr. Ah, my brother, this is a seasonable sight ; it came 

* 2 Kings v. 20; Matt. xxvi. 14, 15 : xxvii. 1-5. 




opportunely to us after the invitation which Demas gave us 
to come over to view the hill Lucre ; and had we gone over 
as he desired us, and as thou wast inclining to do, my brother, 
we had, for aught I know, been made ourselves like this 
woman, a spectacle for those that shall come after to behold. 

Hope. I am sorry that I was so foolish, and am made to 
wonder that I am not now as Lot's wife ; for wherein was 
the difference 'twixt her sin and mine ? she only looked back, 
and I had a desire to go see. Let grace be adored : and 
let me be ashamed that ever such a thing should be in mine 
heart. 



144 THE PILGRIMS DISCOURSE CONCERNING THE MONUMENT. 

Chr. Let us take notice of what we see here for our help 
for time to come. This woman escaped one judgment, for 
she fell not by the destruction of Sodom ; yet she was 
destroyed by another ; — as we see, she is turned into a pillar 
of salt. 

Hope. True ; and she may be to us both caution and ex- 
ample : caution, that we should shun her sin, or a sign of 
what judgment will overtake such as shall not be prevented 
by this caution. So Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, with the 
two hundred and fifty men that perished in their sin, did 
also become a sign or example to others to beware (Num. 
xxvi. 9, 10) : but above all, I muse at one thing, to wit, how 
Demas and his fellows can stand so confidently yonder to look 
for that treasure, which this woman, but for looking behind 
her, after (for we read not that she stept one foot out of the 
way) was turned into a pillar of salt ; specially since the 
judgment which overtook her did make her an example within 
sight of where they are ; for they cannot choose but see her, 
did they but lift up their eyes. 

Chr. It is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth that 
their hearts are grown desperate in the case ; and I cannot 
tell who to compare them to so fitly as to them that pick 
pockets in the presence of the judge, or that will cut purses 
under the gallows. It is said of the men of Sodom, that they 
were sinners exceedingly (Gen. xiii. 10, 13), because they 
were sinners before the Lord, — that is, in his eyesight ; and 
notwithstanding the kindnesses that He had shewn them, for 
the land of Sodom was now like the Garden of Eden hereto- 
fore. This, therefore, provoked Him the more to jealousy, 
and made their plague as hot as the fire of the Lord out of 
heaven could make it. And it is most rationally to be con- 
cluded, that such, even such as these are, that shall sin in the 
sight, yea, and that too in despite of such examples that are 
set continually before them, to caution them to the contrary, 
must be partakers of severest judgments. 

Hope. Doubtless thou hast said the truth ; but what a mercy 
is it that neither thou, but especially I, am not made myself 



THE EIVER OF THE WATER OF LIFE. 



145 




this example ! this ministereth 
occasion to us to thank God, 
to fear before Him, and al- 
ways to remember Lot's wife. 
I saw then that they went 
on their way to a pleasant 
river, which David the king 
called the River of God, but 
John, the River of the water 
of life (Ps. lxv. 9 ; Rev. xxii. ; 
Ezek. xlvii.). Now their way 
lay just upon the bank of the 
river : here, therefore, Chris- 
tian and his companion 
walked with great delight ; 
they drank also of the water 
of the river, which was 
pleasant and enlivening to 
their weary spirits : besides, 
on the banks of this river, on 
either side, were green trees, 
that bore all manrer of fruit ; 




and the leaves of the trees were good for medicine ; with the 
fruit of these trees they were also much delighted ; and the 
leaves they eat to prevent surfeits, and other diseases that are 
incident to those that heat their blood by travels. On either 
side of the river was also a meadow, curiously beautified with 
lilies, and it was green all the year long. In this meadow 
they lay down and slept ; for here they might lie down safely 
(Ps. xxiii. ; Isa. xiv. 30). When they awoke, they gathered 



I 



BY-PATH MEADOW. 147 

again of the fruit of the trees, and drank again of the water 
of the river, and then lay down again to sleep. Tims they did 
several days and nights. Then they sang : — 

" Behold ye how these crystal streams do glide 
(To comfort pilgrims) by the highway side ; 
The meadows green, besides their fragrant smell, 
Yield dainties for them : and he that can tell 
What pleasant fruit, yea leaves, these trees do yield, 
Will soon sell all, that he may buy this field." 

So when they were disposed to go on (for they were not, 
as yet, at their journey's end), they eat and drank, and de- 
parted. 

Now I beheld in my dream, that they had not journeyed 
far but the river and the way for a time parted. At which 
they were not a little sorry, yet they durst not go out of the 
way. Now the way from the river was rough, and their feet 
tender by reason of their travels ; so the souls of the pilgrims 
were much discouraged because of the way (Num. xxi. 4) : 
wherefore, still as they went on, they wished for better way. 
Now a little before them, there was on the left hand of the 
road a meadow, and a stile to go over into it, and that 
meadow is called By-path Meadow. Then said Christian to 
his fellow, " If this meadow lieth along by our way-side, let's 
go over into it." Then he went to the stile to see, and behold 
a path lay along by the way on the other side of the fence. 
" 'Tis according to my wish," said Christian ; " here is the 
easiest going ; come, good Hopeful, and let us go over." 

Hope. But how if this path should lead us out of the 
way ? 

Chr. " That's not like," said the other ; " look, doth it not 
go along by the way-side ? " So Hopeful, being persuaded by 
his fellow, went after him over the stile. When they were 
gone over, and were got into the path, they found it very easy 
for their feet ; and withal, they looking before them, espied 
a man walking as they did (and his name was Vain- Con- 
fidence) ; so they called after him, and asked him whither 
that way led ? He said, " To the Celestial Gate." " Look," 
said Christian, " did not I tell you so ? By this you may 



148 



VAIN- CONFIDENCE S FATE. 



see we are right." So they followed, and he went before 
them. But behold, the night came on, and it grew very dark, 
so that they that were behind lost the sight of him that went 
before. 

He therefore that went before (Vain- Confidence by name), 
not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep pit (Isa. ix. 
16), which was on purpose there made by the prince of those 
grounds, to catch vain-glorious fools withal, and was dashed 
in pieces with his fall. 

Now Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So they 
called, to know the matter, but there was none to answer, 
only they heard a groaning. Then said Hopeful, "Where 
are we now ? " Then was his fellow silent, as mistrusting that 
he had led him out of the way. And now it began to rain, 
and thunder, and lighten in a very dreadful manner, and the 
water rose amain. 

Then Hopeful groaned in himself, saying, " Oh, that I had 
kept on my way ! " 

Che. Who could have thought that this path should have 
led us out of the way ? 




GIANT DESPAIR. 149 

Hope. I was afraid on't at the very first, and therefore gave 
you that gentle caution. I would have spoke plainer, but 
that you are older than I. 

Chr. Good brother, be not offended; I am sorry I have 
brought thee out of the way, and that I have put thee into 
such imminent danger. Pray, my brother, forgive me ; I did 
not do it of an evil intent. 

Hope. Be comforted, my brother, for I forgive thee ; and 
believe too, that this shall be for our good. 

Chr. I am glad I have with me a merciful brother. But 
we must not stand thus ; let's try to go back again. 

Hope. But, good brother, let me go before. 

Chr. No, if you please, let me go first ; that if there be 
any danger I may be first therein, because by my means we 
are both gone out of the way. 

Hope. "No," said Hopeful, "you shall not go first, for 
your mind being troubled, may lead you out of the way 
again." Then, for their encouragement, they heard the voice 
of one saying, Let thine heart be towards the highway, even 
the way that thou wentest ; turn again (Jer. xxxi. 21). But 
by this time the waters were greatly risen, by reason of which 
the way of going back was very dangerous. (Then I thought 
that it is easier going out of the way when we are in, than 
going in when we are out. ) Yet they adventured to go back ; 
but it was so dark, and the flood was so high, that in their 
going back they had like to have been drowned nine or ten 
times. 

Neither could they, with all the skill they had, get again 
to the stile that night. Wherefore, at last, lighting under a 
little shelter, they sat down there till the day brake; but 
being weary, they fell asleep. Now there was not far from 
the place where they lay, a castle, called Doubting Castle, 
the owner whereof was Giant Despair, and it was in his 
grounds they now were sleeping ; wherefore he getting up in 
the morning early, and walking up and down in his fields, 
caught Christian and Hopeful asleep in his grounds. Then, 
with a grim and surly voice, he bid them awake ; and asked 
them whence they were, and what they did in his grounds. 




They told him they were pilgrims, and that they had lost 
their way. Then said the Giant, " Yon have this night tres- 
passed on me, by trampling in and lying on my grounds, and 
therefore yon must go along with me." So they were forced 
to go, because he was stronger than they. They also had bnt 
little to say, for they knew themselves in a fault. The Giant, 
therefore, drove them before him, and put them into his 
castle, into a very dark dungeon, nasty and stinking to the 
spirit of these two men (Ps. lxxxviii. 18). Here, then, they lay, 
from Wednesday morning till Saturday night, without one bit 
of bread, or drop of drink, or any light, or any to ask how they 
did. They were, therefore, here in evil case, and were far 
from friends and acquaintance. Now in this place Christian 
had double sorrow, because 'twas through his unadvised 
counsel that they were brought into this distress. 

Now Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was Dim- 



diffidence's counsel. 151 

dence : so when he was gone to bed, he told his wife what he 
had done, to wit, that he had taken a couple of prisoners, and 
cast them into his dungeon, for trespassing on his grounds. 
Then he asked her also what he had best to do further to 
them. So she asked him what they were, whence they came, 
and whither they were bound ; and he told her. Then she coun- 
selled him, that when he arose in the morning he should beat 
them without any mercy : so when he arose, he getteth him a 
grievous crab-tree cudgel, and goes down into the dungeon to 
them, and there first falls to rating of them as if they were dogs, 
although they gave him never a word of distaste ; then he 
falls upon them, and beats them fearfully, hi such sort, that 
they were not able to help themselves, or to turn them upon 
the floor. This done he withdraws and leaves them, there to 
condole their misery, and to mourn under their distress ; so 
all that day they spent the time in nothing but sighs and 
bitter lamentations. The next night, she talking with her 
husband about them further, and understanding that they 
were yet alive, did advise him to counsel them to make away 
themselves. So when morning was come, he goes to them in 
a surly manner, as before, and perceiving them to be very 
sore with the stripes that he had given them the day before, 
he told them, that since they were never like to come out of 
that place, their only way would be, forthwith to make an end 
of themselves, either with knife, halter, or poison : " For 
why," said he, " should you choose life, seeing it is attended 




152 HOPEFUL ENCOURAGES CHRISTIAN. 

with so imicli bitterness ? " But they desired him to let them 
go ; with that he looked ugly upon them, and rushing to 
them, had doubtless made an end of them himself, but that 
he fell into one of his fits ; for he sometimes in sunshine 
weather fell into fits, and lost (for a time) the use of his 
hand : wherefore he withdrew, and left them (as before) to 
consider what to do. Then did the prisoners consult between 
themselves, whether 'twas best to take his counsel or no : and 
thus they began to discourse. 

Chr. " Brother," said Christian, " what shall we do ? the 
life that we now live is miserable : for my part I know not 
whether is best, to live thus, or to die out of hand. l My 
soul chooseth strangling rather than life ' (Job vii. 15) ; and 
the grave is more easy for me than this dungeon. Shall we 
be ruled by the Giant ? " 

Hope. Indeed our present condition is dreadful, and death 
would be far more welcome to me than thus for ever to abide ; 
but yet let us consider, the Lord of the country to which we 
are going hath said, " Thou shalt do no murder," no, not to 
another man's person. Much more, then, are we forbidden to 
take his counsel to kill ourselves. Besides, he that kills another 
can but commit murder upon his body ; but for one to kill 
himself, is to kill body and soul at once. And, moreover, my 
brother, thou talkest of ease in the grave ; but hast thou for- 
gotten the hell, whither for certain the murderers go ? " for 
no murderer hath eternal life," &c. And let us consider 
again, that all the law is not in the hand of Giant Despair ; 
others, so far as I can understand, have been taken by him as 
well as we, and yet have escaped out of his hand : who 
knows but that God that made the world may cause that 
Giant Despair may die ; or that, at some time or other, he 
may forget to lock us in ; or, but he may in a short time have 
another of his fits before us, and may lose the use of his 
limbs : and if ever that should come to pass again, for my 
part I am resolved to pluck up the heart of a man, and to try 
my utmost to get from under his hand. I was a fool that I 
did not try to do it before ; but however, my brother, let's be 
patient, and endure a while ; the time may come that may 
give us a happy release ; but let us not be our own murderers. 




With these words Hopeful at present did moderate the mind 
of his brother ; so they continued together (in the dark) that 
day, in their sad and doleful condition. 

Well, towards evening, the Giant goes down into the dun- 
geon again, to see if his prisoners had taken his counsel ; but 
when he came there, he found them alive, and truly, alive was 
all : for now, what for want of bread and water, and by reason 
of the wounds they received when he beat them, they could 
do little but breathe. But, I say, he found them alive ; at 
which he fell into a grievous rage, and told them that, seeing 
they had disobeyed his counsel, it should be worse with them 
than if they had never been born. 

At this they trembled greatly, and I tMnk that Christian 
fell into a swound ; but coming a little to himself again, they 
renewed their discourse about the Giant's counsel, and whether 
yet they had best to take it or no. Now Christian again 
seemed to be for doing it ; but Hopeful made his second reply, 
as followeth : 

Hope. " My brother," said he, " rememberest thou not how 
valiant thou hast been heretofore ? Apollyon could not crush 
thee ; nor could all that thou didst hear, or see, or feel in the 
Valley of the Shadow of Death. What hardship, terror, and 
amazement hast thou already gone through, — and art thou 
now nothing but fear ? Thou seest that I am in the dungeon 
with thee, a far weaker man by nature than thou art. Also, 
this Giant has wounded me as well as thee, and hath also cut 



154 



HORRORS OF DOUBTING CASTLE. 



off tlie bread and water from my mouth ; and with thee I 
mourn without the light : but let's exercise a little more 
patience. Remember how thou playedst the man at Vanity 
Fair, and wast neither afraid of the chain nor cage, nor yet of 
bloody death ; wherefore let us (at least to avoid the shame 
that becomes not a Christian to be found in) bear up with 
patience as well as we can." 

Now night being come again, and the Giant and his wife 
being in bed, she asked him concerning the prisoners, and if 
they had taken his counsel ? To which he replied, " They are 
sturdy rogues ; they choose rather to bear all hardship than 
to make away themselves." Then said she, " Take them into 
the castle-yard to-morrow, and shew them the bones and 
skulls of those that thou hast already despatched ; and make 
them believe, ere a week comes to an end, thou also wilt tear 
them in pieces, as thou hast done their fellows before them." 




THE KEY, PEOMISE. 155 

So when the morning was come, the Giant goes to. them 
again, and takes them into the castle-yard, and shews them as 
his wife had bidden him. " These," said he, " were pilgrims 
as you are, once, and they trespassed in my grounds, as yon 
have done ; and when I thought fit I tore them in pieces ; and 
so within ten days I will do yon : go, get yon down to your 
den again." And with that he beat them all the way thither. 
They lay, therefore, all day on Saturday in a lamentable case, 
as before. Now when night was come, and when Mrs. Diffi- 
dence and her husband the Giant were got to bed, they began 
to renew their discourse of their prisoners ; and withal, the 
old Giant wondered that he could neither by his blows nor 
counsel bring them to an end. And with that his wife replied : 
" I fear," said she, " that they live in hope that some will 
come to relieve them; or that they have pick-locks about 
them; by the means of which they hope to escape." "And 
say est thou so, my dear?" said the Giant; "I will there- 
fore search them in the morning." 

Well, on Saturday about midnight they began to pray, and 
continued in prayer till almost break of day. 

Wow a little before it was day, good Christian, as one half 
amazed, brake out in this passionate speech : "What a fool," 
quoth he, " am I thus to lie in a stinking dungeon when I 
may as well walk at liberty ! I have a key in my bosom 
called Promise, that will, I am persuaded, open any lock in 
Doubting Castle." Then said Hopeful, " That's good news ; 
good brother, pluck it out of thy bosom, and try." 

Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to try 
at the dungeon door, whose bolt (as he turned the key) gave 
back, and the door flew open with ease, and Christian and 
Hopeful both came out. Then he went to the outward door 
that leads into the castle-yard, and with his key opened that 
door also. After, he went to the iron gate, for that must be 
opened too, but that lock went damnable hard, yet the key 
did open it. Then they thrust open the gate to make their 
escape with speed ; but that gate, as it opened, made such a 
creaking, that it waked Giant Despair, who hastily rising to 
pursue his prisoners, felt his limbs to fail, for his fits took him 




again, so that he could by no means go after them. Then 
they went on, and came to the king's highway again, and so 
were safe, because they were out of his jurisdiction. 

Now when they were gone over the stile, they began to 
contrive with themselves what they should do at that stile, to 
prevent those that should come after from falling into the 



THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS. 



157 




hands of Giant Despair. So they 
consented to erect there a pillar, 
and to engrave upon the side thereof 
this sentence : " Over this stile is 
the way to Doubting- Castle, which 
is kept by Griant Despair, who de- 
spiseth the King of the Celestial 
Country, and seeks to destroy his. 
holy pilgrims." Many, therefore, 
that followed after, read what was 
written, and escaped the danger. 
This done, they sang as follows : 

" Out of the way we went, and then we 

found 
What 'twas to tread upon forbidden 

ground : 
And let them that come after have a 

care, 
Lest heedlessness makes them, as we, 

to fare ; 
Lest they, for trespassing, his prisoners 

are, 
Whose castle 's Doubting, and whose 

name 's Despair." 



They went, then, till they came to the Delectable Moun- 
tains, which mountains belong to the Lord of that hill of 
which we have spoken before. So they went up to the moun- 
tains, to behold the gardens and orchards, the vineyards and 
fountains of water ; where also they drank, and washed them- 
selves, and did freely eat of the vineyards. Now there was 
on the tops of these mountains shepherds feeding their flocks, 
and they stood by the highway side. The pilgrims therefore 
went to them ; and, leaning upon their staves (as is common 
with weary pilgrims when they stand to talk with any by the 
way), they asked, " Whose delectable mountains are these ? 
and whose be the sheep that feed upon them ? " 



158 THE NAMES OF THE SHEPHERDS. 

Shep. These mountains are Immanuel's land, and they are 
within sight of his city ; and the sheep also are his, and he 
laid down his life for them (John x. 11). 

Chr. Is this the way to the Celestial City ? 

Shep. Yon are jnst in your way. 

Chr. How far is it thither ? 

Shep. Too far for any but those that shall get thither in- 
deed. 

Chr. Is the way safe or dangerous ? 

Shep. Safe for those for whom it is to be safe ; but trans- 
gressors shall fall therein (Hos. xiv. 9). 

Chr. Is there in this place any relief for pilgrims that are 
weary and faint in the way ? 

Shep. The Lord of these mountains hath given ns a charge, 
not to be forgetful to entertain strangers (Heb. xiii. 1, 2) ; 
therefore the good of the place is even before you. 

I saw also in my dream, that when the shepherds perceived 
that they were wayfaring men, they also put questions to them 
(to which they made answer as in other places), as, " Whence 
came you?" and, "How got you into the way?" and, "By 
what means have you so persevered therein ? For but few 
of them that begin to come hither do shew their face on 
these mountains." Bnt when the shepherds heard their 
answers, being pleased therewith, they looked very lovingly 
upon them, and said, "Welcome to the Delectable Moun- 
tains." 

The shepherds, I say, whose names were, Knowledge, Ex- 
perience, Watchful, and Sincere, took them by the hand, and 
had them to their tents, and made them partake of that which 
was ready at present. They said, moreover, " We would that 
you should stay here a while, to be acquainted with us, and 
yet more to solace yourselves with the good of these Delec- 
table Mountains." They then told them, that they were 
content to stay ; and so they went to their rest that night, 
because it was very late.. 

Then I saw in my dream, that in the morning the shepherds 
called up Christian and Hopeful to walk with them upon the 




mountains. So they went fortli 
with tliem, and walked a while, 
having a pleasant prospect on 
every side. Then said the shep- 
herds one to another, " Shall we 
shew these pilgrims some won- 
ders ? " So when they had con- 
cluded to do it, they had them 
first to the top of an hill called 
Error, which was very steep on 
the furthest side, and bid them 
look down to the bottom. So 



160 



MEN BLINDED BY GIANT DESPAIR. 



Christian and Hopeful looked 
down, and saw at the bottom 
several men dashed all to pieces 
by a fall that they had from the 
top. Then said Christian, " What 
meaneth this?" The shepherds 
answered, "Have you not heard 
of them that were made to err, 
by hearkening to Hymenens and 
Philetns as concerning the faith 
of the resurrection of the body ? " 
(2 Tim. ii. 17, 18.) They an- 
swered, "Yes." Then said the 
shepherds, " Those that you see 
lie dashed in pieces at the bottom 
of this mountain are they; and 
they have continued to this day 
unburied (as you see), for an ex- 
ample to others to take heed how 
they clamber too high, or how 
they come too near the brink of 
this mountain." 

Then I saw that they had them 
to the top of another mountain, — 
and the name of that is Caution, 
— and bid them look afar off. 
Which when they did, they per- 
ceived, as they thought, several 
men walking up and down among 
the tombs that were there. And 
they perceived that the men were blind, 
because they stumbled sometimes upon 
the tombs, and because they could not get out irom among 
them. Then said Christian, " What means this ? " 

The shepherds then answered, " Did you not see, a little 
below these mountains, a stile that led into a meadow on the 
left hand of this way?" They answered, "Yes." Then 
said the shepherds, " From that stile there goes a path that 




MEN BLINDED BY GIANT DESPAIR. 



161 



leads directly to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant 
Despair ; and these men — (pointing to them among the tombs) 
— came once on pilgrimage, as you do now, even till they 
came to that same stile. And because the right way was 
rough in that place, they chose to go out of it into that 
meadow, and there were taken by Giant Despair, and cast into 
Doubting Castle ; where, after they had a while been kept in 
the dungeon, he at last did put out their eyes, and led them 
among those tombs, where he has left them to wander to this 
very day, that the saying of the Wise Man might be fulfilled : 
He that wandereth out of the way of understanding, shall 
remain in the congregation of the dead" (Prov. xxi. 16). 
Then Christian and Hopeful looked one upon another, with 
tears gushing out ; but yet said nothing to the shepherds. 

Then I saw in my dream that the shepherds had them to 
another place, in a bottom, where was a door in the side of 
an hill; and they opened the door, and bid them look in. 





They looked in, therefore, and saw that within it was very 
dark and smoky ; they also thought that they heard there a 
rumbling noise as of fire, and a cry of some tormented, and 
that they smelt the scent of brimstone. Then said Christian, 
" What means this ? " The shepherds told them, saying, 
" This is a by-way to hell, a way that hypocrites go in at : 
namely, such as sell their birthright, with Esau : such as sell 



THE BY-WAY TO HELL. 



163 



their master, with Judas ; such as blaspheme the Gospel, with 
Alexander ; and that lie and dissemble, with Ananias and 
Sapphira his wife." 

Hope. Then said Hopeful to the shepherds, " I perceive 
that these had on them, even every one, a show- of pilgrimage, 
as we have now ; had they not ? " 

Shep. Yes, and held it a long time too. 

Hope. How far might they go on pilgrimage in their day, 
since they, notwithstanding, were thus miserably cast away ? 

Shep. Some farther, and some not so far as these moun- 
tains. 

Then said the pilgrims one to another, " We had need to 
cry to the strong for strength." 

Shep. Ay, and you will have need to use it when you have 
it, too. 

By this time the pilgrims had a desire to go forwards, and 




164 THE HILL CLEAE. 

the shepherds a desire they should ; so they walked together 
towards the end of the mountains. Then said the shepherds 
one to another, "Let us here shew to "the pilgrims the gates 
of the Celestial City, if they have skill to look through our 
perspective glass." The pilgrims then lovingly accepted the 
motion : so they had them to the top of an high hill, called 
Clear, and gave them their glass to look. Then they essayed 
to look, but the remembrance of that last thing that the 
shepherds had shewed them made their hands shake, by 
means of which impediment, they couM not look steadily 
through the glass ; yet they thought they saw something like 
the gate, and also some of the glory of the place. Then 
they went away and sang this song : — 

" Thus by the shepherds secrets are reveal' d, 
Which from all other men are kept conceal' d : 
Come to the shepherds, then, if you would see 
Things deep, things hid, and that mysterious be." 

When they were about to depart, one of the shepherds 
gave them a note of the way, another of them bid them 
beware of the flatterer, the third bid them take heed that they 
sleep not upon the enchanted ground, and the fourth bid them 
God speed. So I awoke from my dream. 

And I slept, and dreamed again, and saw the same two 
pilgrims going down the mountains along the highway to- 
wards the city. Now, a little below these mountains, on the 
left hand, lieth the country of Conceit, from which country 
there comes into the way in which the pilgrims walked a little 
crooked lane. Here, therefore, they met with a very brisk 
lad, that came out of that country; and his name was 
Ignorance. So Christian asked him, "From what parts he 
came ? and whither he was going ? " 

^ Ign. Sir, I was born in the country that lieth off there, a 
little on the left hand 5 and I am going to the Celestial City. 

Chr. But how do you think to get in at the gate, for you 
may find some difficulty there ? 

Ign. " As other good people do," said he. 




Che. But what have you to shew at that gate that may 
cause that the gate should be opened to you ? 

Ign. I know my Lord's will, and I have been a good liver : 
I pay every man his own ; I pray, fast, pay tithes, and give 
alms, and have left my country for whither I am going. 



166 THEY MEET IGNORANCE. 

Chr. But thou earnest not in at the wicket-gate that is at 
the head of this way, thou earnest in hither through that same 
crooked lane, and therefore I fear, however thou mayest think 
of thyself, when the reckoning- day shall come, thou wilt have 
laid to thy charge, that thou art a thief and a robber, instead 
of getting admittance into the city. 

Ign. Gentlemen, ye be utter strangers to me, I know you 
not ; be content to follow the religion of your country, and I 
will follow the religion of mine. I hope all will be well. And 
as for the gate that you talk of, all the world knows that that 
is a great way off of our country. I cannot think that any 
man in all our parts doth so much as know the way to it ; nor 
need they matter whether they do or no, since we have, as you 
see, a fine pleasant green lane, that comes down from our 
country the next way into it. 

When Christian saw that the man was wise in his own con- 
ceit, he said to Hopeful whisperingly, " There is more hope 
of a fool than of him " (Prov. xxvi. 12). And said, moreover, 
"When he that is a fool walketh by the way, his wisdom 
faileth him, and he saith to every one that he is a fool 
(Eccles. x. 3). What! shall we talk farther with him? or 
outgo him at present, and so leave him to think of what he 
hath heard already ; and then stop again for him afterwards, 
and see if by degrees we can do any good by him? " Then 
said Hopeful : — 

" Let Ignorance a little while now muse 
On what is said, and let him not refuse 
Good counsel to embrace, lest he remain 
Still ignorant of what's the chiefest gain. 
God saith, ' Those that no understanding have 
(Although he made them) them he will not save.' " 

Hope. He further added, " It is not good, I think, to say 
all to him at once ; let us pass him by if you will, and talk to 
him anon, even as he is able to bear it." 

So they both went on, and Ignorance he came after. Now 
when they had passed him a little way, they entered into a 



TURN-AWAY CARRIED OFF BY DEVILS. 



167 



very dark lane, where they met a man whom seven devils had 
bound with seven strong cords, and were a carrying of him 
back to the door that they saw in the side of the hill (Matt, 
xii. 45 ; Prov. v. 22). Now good Christian began to tremble, 
and so did Hopeful his companion ; yet as the devils led away 
the man, Christian looked to see if he knew him, and he 
thought it might be one Turn- away, that dwelt in the town of 
Apostacy. But he did not perfectly see his face, for he did 
hang his head like a thief that is found ; but being gone past, 
Hopeful looked after him, and espied on his back a paper 
with this inscription, "Wanton professor, and damnable 
apostate." Then said Christian to his fellow, " Now I call to 
remembrance that which was told me of a thing that hap- 
pened to a good man hereabout. The name of the man was 
Little-faith, but a good man, and he dwelt in the town of 





Sincere. The tiling was this: at the entering in of this 
passage there comes down from Broadway-gate a lane called 
Deadman's-lane, so called because of the murders that are 
commonly done there. And this Little-faith going on pilgrim- 
age, as we do now, chanced to sit down there, and slept. 
Now there happened, at that time, to come down the lane 
from Broadway-gate three sturdy rogues, and their names 
were Faint-heart, Mistrust, and Guilt (three brothers), and 
they espying Little-faith where he was, came galloping up 
with speed. Now the good man was just awaked from his 
sleep, and was getting up to go on his journey ; so they came 
all up to him, and, with threatening language, bid him stand. 
At this, Little-faith looked as white as a clout, and had 
neither power to fight nor fly. Then said Faint-heart, " De- 
liver thy purse ; " but he making no haste to do it (for he was 
loth to lose his money), Mistrust ran up to him, and, thrusting 
his hand into his pocket, pulled out thence a bag of silver. 
Then he cried out, " Thieves, thieves ! " With that, Guilt, 



[ 



LITTLE-FAITH ROBBED OF HIS SPENDING-MONEY. 169 

with a great club that was in his hand, struck Little-faith on 
the head, and with that blow felled him flat to the ground, 
where he lay bleeding, as one that would bleed to death. All 
this while the thieves stood by ; but at last, they hearing that 
some were upon the road, and fearing lest it should be one 
Great- grace, that dwells in the city of Good- confidence, they 
betook themselves to their heels, and left this good man to 
shift for himself. Now, after a while, Little- faith came to 
himself, and getting up, made shift to scrabble on his way. 
This was the story. 

Hope. But did they take from him all that ever he had? 

Che. No ; the place where his jewels were they never ran- 
sacked, so those he kept still ; but, as I was told, the good 
man was much afflicted for his loss, for the thieves got most 
of his spending-money. That which they got not (as I said) 
were jewels ; also he had a little odd money left, but scarce 
enough to bring him to his journey's end (1 Pet. iv. 18) ; 
nay (if I was not misinformed), he was forced to beg as he 
went to keep himself alive (for his jewels he might not sell). 
But beg, and do what he could, he went (as we say) with 
many a hungry belly the most part of the rest of the way, 

Hope. But is it not a wonder they got not from him his 
certificate by which he was to receive his admittance at the 
Celestial Gate ? 

Chr. 'Tis a wonder but they got not that, though they 
missed it not through any good cunning of his ; for he being 
dismayed with their coming upon him, had neither power nor 
skill to hide anything : so 'twas more by good providence 
than by his endeavour that they missed of that good thing 
(2 Tim. i. 14; 2 Pet. ii. 9). 

Hope. But it must needs be a comfort to him that they got. 
not this jewel from him. 

Chr. It might have been great comfort to him, had he used 
it as he should ; but they that told me the story, said, 
That he made but little use of it all the rest of the way, and 
that because of the dismay that he had in their taking away 
of his money • indeed, he forgot it a great part of the rest of 
the journey ; and besides, when at any time it came into his 

z 



170 



LITTLE-FAITH GRIEVES AT HIS LOSS. 



mind, and he began to be comforted therewith, then would 
fresh thoughts of his loss come again upon him, and those 
thoughts would swallow up all. 

Hope. Alas, poor man, this could not but be a great grief 
unto him. 

Chr. Grief ! Ay, a grief indeed ; would it not a been so 
to any of us, had we been used as he, to be robbed and 
wounded too, and that in a strange place, as he was ? 'Tis a 
wonder he did not die with grief, poor heart ! I was told, 
that he scattered almost all the rest of the way with nothing 
but doleful and bitter complaints. Telling also to all that 
overtook him, or that he overtook in the way as he went, 
where he was robbed, and how ; who they were that did it, 
and what he lost ; how he was wounded, and that he hardly 
escaped with life. 




i 



I 



LITTLE-FAITH COMPARED TO ESAU. 171 

Hope. But 'tis a wonder that his necessities did not put 
him upon selling or pawning some of his jewels, that he 
might have wherewith to relieve himself in his journey. 

Chr. Thou talkest like one upon whose head is the shell to 
this very day ; for what should he pawn them ? or to whom 
should he sell them ? In all that country where he was 
robbed, his jewels were not accounted of, nor did he want 
that relief which could from thence be administered to him ; 
besides, had his jewels been missing at the gate of the 
Celestial City, he had (and that he knew well enough) been 
excluded from an inheritance there, and that would have 
been worse to him than the appearance and villany of ten 
thousand thieves. 

Hope. Why art thou so tart, my brother ? Esau sold his 
birthright, and that for a mess of pottage ; and that birthright 
was his greatest jewel (Heb. xii. 16) ; and if he, why might 
not Little-faith do so too ? 

Chr. Esau did sell his birthright indeed, and so do many 
besides ; and by so doing, exclude themselves from the chief 
blessing, as also that caitiff did. But you must put a difference 
betwixt Esau and Little-faith, and also betwixt their estates. 
Esau's birthright was typical, but Little-faith's jewels were 
not so. Esau's belly was his god, but Little-faith's belly was 
not so (Gen. xxv. 32). Esau's want lay in his fleshly appetite, 
Little-faith's did not so. Besides, Esau could see no further 
than to the fulfilling of his lusts : " For I am at the point to 
die," said he ; " and what good will this birthright do me ? " 
But Little-faith, though it was his lot to have but a little 
faith, was by his little faith kept from such extravagances, and 
made to see and prize his jewels more than to sell them, as 
Esau did his birthright. You read not any where that Esau 
had faith, no, not so much as a little : therefore no marvel, if 
where the flesh only bears sway (as it will in that man where 
no faith is to resist), if he sells his birthright, and his soul 
and all, and that to the devil of hell ; for it is with such as 
it is with the ass, who in her occasion cannot be turned away 
(Jer. ii. 24). When their minds are set upon their lusts, 
they will have them, whatever they cost. But Little-faith 




was of another temper, his mind was on things divine ; his 
livelihood was upon things that were spiritual, and from 
above : therefore, to what end should he that is of snch a 
temper sell his jewels (had there been any that would have 
bought them), to fill his mind with empty things? Will a 
man give a penny to fill his belly with hay? or can you 
persuade the turtle-dove to live upon carrion, like the crow ? 
Though faithless ones can, for carnal lusts, pawn, or mortgage, 
or sell what they have, and themselves outright to boot ; yet 



HOPEFUL BLAMES LITTLE-FAITH. 173 

tliey that have faith, saving faith, though but a little of it, 
cannot do so. Here, therefore, my brother, is thy mistake. 

Hope. I acknowledge it ; but yet your severe reflection had 
almost made me angry. 

Chr. Why, I did but compare thee to some of the birds 
that are of the brisker sort, who will run to and fro in 
trodden paths with the shell upon their heads ; but pass by 
that, and consider the matter under debate, and all shall be 
well betwixt thee and me. 

Hope. But, Christian, these three fellows, I am persuaded 
in my heart, are but a company of cowards : would they have 
run else, think you, as they did, at the noise of one that was 
coming on the road ? Why did not Little-faith pluck up a 
greater heart? He might, methinks, have stood one brush 
with them, and have yielded when there had been no remedy. 

Chr. That they are cowards, many have said, but few have 
found it so in the time of trial. As for a great heart, Little- 
faith had none ; and I perceive by thee, my brother, hadst 
thou been the man concerned, thou art but for a brush, and 
then to yield. And, verily, since this is the height of thy 
stomach now they are at a distance from us, should they 
appear to thee, as they did to him, they might put thee to 
second thoughts. 

But consider again, they are but journeyman-thieves, they 
serve under the king of the bottomless pit ; who, if need be, 
will come in to their aid himself, and his voice is as the 
roaring of a lion (1 Pet. v. 8). I myself have been engaged 
as this Little-faith was, and I found it a terrible thing. These 
three villains set upon me, and I beginning like a Christian 
to resist, they gave but a call, and in came their master: I 
would, as the saying is, have given my life for a penny ; but 
that, as God would have it, I was clothed with armour of 
proof. Ay, and yet though I was so harnessed, I found it 
hard work to quit myself like a man ; no man can tell what 
in that combat attends us, but he that hath been in the battle 
himself. 

Hope. Well, but they ran, you see, when they did but 
suppose that one Great-grace was in the way. 



\ 









;*"fS8| 



t Ml 










Che. True, they have often fled, both they and their master, 
when Great-grace hath but appeared ; and no marvel, for he 
is the king's champion : but I trow, you will put some differ- 
ence between Little-faith and the king's champion ; all the 
king's subjects are not his champions ; nor can they, when 
tried, do such feats of war as he. Is it meet to think that a 
little child should handle Goliath as David did ? or that there 
should be the strength of an ox in a wren ? Some are strong, 






GREAT-GRACE THE KING'S CHAMPTON. 175 

some are weak ; some have great faith, some have little : this 
man was one of the weak, and therefore he went to the 
walls. 

Hope. I would it had been Great- grace, for their sakes. 

Chr. If it had been he, he might have had his hands full : 
for I mnst tell yon, that though Great-grace is excellent good 
at his weapons, and has and can, so long as he keeps them at 
sword's point, do well enough with them; yet if they get 
within him, even Faint-heart, Mistrust, or the other, it shall 
go hard but they will throw up his heels. And when a man 
is down, you know, what can he do ? 

Whoso looks well upon Great-grace's face, shall see those 
scars and cuts there, that shall easily give demonstration of 
what I say. Yea, once I heard that he should say (and that 
when he was in the combat), "We despaired even of life." 
How did these sturdy rogues and their fellows make David 
groan, mourn, and roar? Yea, Heman and Hezekiah too, 
though champions in their day, were forced to bestir them, 
when by these assaulted ; and yet, that notwithstanding, 
they had their coats soundly brushed by them. Peter, upon 
a time, would go try what he could do; but, though some 
do say of him that he is the Prince of the Apostles, they 
handled him so, that they made him at last afraid of a sorry 
girl. 

Besides, their king is at their whistle, he is never out of 
hearing ; and if at any time they be put to the worst, he, if 
possible, comes in to help them. And of him it is said, 
" The sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold : the 
spear, the dart, nor the habergeon; he esteemeth iron as 
straw, and brass as rotten wood ; the arrow cannot make him 
fly ; slingstones are turned with him into stubble ; darts are 
counted as stubble ; he laugheth at the shaking of a spear " 
(Job xli. 26). What can a man do in this case ? 'Tis true, 
if a man could at every turn have Job's horse, and had skill 
and courage to ride him, he might do notable things. For 
" his neck is clothed with thunder ; he will not be afraid as the 
grasshopper ; the glory of his nostrils is terrible ; he paweth 
in the valley, rejoiceth in his strength, and goeth out to meet 



176 



JOB S HORSE. 



the armed men ; he mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted, 
neither tnrneth back from the sword ; the quiver rattleth 
against him, the glittering spear, and the shield ; he swal- 
loweth the ground with fierceness and rage, neither believe th 
he that it is the sound of the trumpet ; he saith among the 
trumpets, Ha, ha ; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the 
thundering of the captains, and the shoutings " (Job xxxix. 
19). 

But for such footmen as thee and I are, let us never desire 
to meet with an enemy, nor vaunt as if we could do better, 
when we hear of others that they have been foiled ; nor be 
tickled at the thoughts of our own manhood, for such com- 
monly come by the worst when tried. Witness Peter, of 
whom I made mention before. He would swagger, _. ay, he 





would : he would, as his vain inind prompted him to say, do 
better, and stand more for his Master, than all men ; but who 
so foiled and run down by these villains as he ? 

When, therefore, we hear that such robberies are done on 
the king's highway, two things become us to do ; first, to go 
out harnessed, and to be sure to take a shield with us ; for it 
was for want of that, that he that laid so lustily at Leviathan 

A A 



178 TME PILGEIMS SEDUCED BY THE FLATTEEEE. 

could not make him yield. For, indeed, if that "be wanting, 
he fears us not at all. Therefore he that had skill hath said, 
"Above all, take the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be 
able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked" (Eph. vi. 
16). 

'Tis good also that we desire of the king a convoy, yea, 
that he will go with us himself. This made David rejoice 
when in the Valley of the Shadow of Death ; and Moses was 
rather for dying where he stood than to go one step without 
his God (Ex. xxxiii. 15). Oh, my brother, if He will but go 
along with us, what need we be afraid of ten thousands that 
shall set themselves against us ? but without Him, the proud 
helpers fall under the slain (Ps. iii. 5-8 ; xxvii. 1-3 ; Isa. x. 4). 

I, for my part, have been in the fray before now, and 
though (through the goodness of him that is best), I am, as 
you see, alive, yet I cannot boast of my manhood. Glad 
shall I be if I meet with no more such brunts, though I fear 
we are not got beyond all danger. However, since the lion 
and the bear hath not as yet devoured me, I hope God will 
also deliver us from the next uncircumcised Philistine* 

Then sang Christian : 

" Poor Little-faith ! hast been among the thieves ? 
Wast robb'd ? Remember this, whoso believes, 
And gets more faith, shall then a victor be 
Over ten thousand, else scarce over three." 

So they went on, and Ignorance followed. They went then 
till they came at a place where they saw a way put itself into 
their way, and seemed withal to lie as straight as the way 
which they should go ; and here they knew not which of the 
two to take, for both seemed straight before them ; therefore 
here they stood still to consider. And as they were thinking 
about the way, behold a man, black of flesh, but covered with 
a very light robe, came to them, and asked them, " Why they 
stood there ? " They answered, " They were going to the 
Celestial City, but knew not which of these ways to take." 
" Follow me ! " said the man ; " it is thither that I am going." 
So they followed him in the way that but now came into the 



THEY ARE OVERTAKEN BY A SHINING ONE. 



179 



road, which by degrees turned and 
turned them so from the city that they 
desired to go to, that in little time 
their faces were turned away from it ; 
yet they followed him. But by and 
by, before they were aware, he led 
them both within the compass of a 
net, in which they were both so en- 
tangled that they knew not what to 
do ; and with that the white robe fell 
off the black man's back ; then they 
saw where they were. Wherefore 
there they lay crying some time, for 
they could not get themselves out. 

Chr. Then said Christian to his fel- 
low, " Now do I see myself in an error. 
Did not the shepherds bid us beware 
of the flatterers ? As is the saying of 
the Wise Man, so we have found it this 
day : t A man that flattereth his neigh- 
bour spreadeth a net for his feet ' " 
(Prov. xxix. 5). 

Hope. They also gave us a note of 
way, for our more sure finding thereof 
also forgotten to read, and have not kept ourselves from the 
paths of the destroyer. Here David was wiser than we ; for, 
saith he, " Concerning the works of men, by the word of thy 
lips, I have kept me from the paths of the destroyer " (Ps. 
xvii. 4). 

Thus they lay bewailing themselves in the net. At last 
they espied a shining one coming towards them, with a whip 
of small cord in his hand. 

When he was come to the place where they were, he asked 
them whence they came ? and what they did there ? They 
told him, " That they were poor pilgrims going to Zion, but 
were led out of their way by a black man, clothed in white, 
who bid us," said they, " follow him ; for he was going thither 
too." Then said he with the whip, " It is Flatterer, a false 




directions about the 
but therein we have 



180 



'THEY ARE RELEASED FROM THE NET, 



apostle, that hath transformed himself into an angel of light " 
(Pror. xxix. 5 ; Dan. xi. 32 ; 2 Cor. xi. 13, 14). So he rent 
the net, and let the men out. Then said he to them, " Follow 
me, that I may set yon in your way again." So he led them 
back to the way which they had left to follow the Flatterer. 
Then he asked them, saying, "Where did yon lie the last 
night ? " They said, " With the shepherds npon the Delectable 




AND CHASTISED. 181 

Mountains." He asked them then, " If they had not of those 
shepherds a note of direction for the way ? " They answered, 
"Yes." " But did yon," said he, " when yon were at a stand, 
pluck out and read your note ? " They answered, " No." He 
asked them why ? They said they forgot. He asked, more- 
over, "If the shepherds did not bid them beware of the 
Flatterer ? " They answered, " Yes ; but we did not imagine " 
said they, " that this fine-spoken man had been he " (Rom. 
xvi. 18). 

Then I saw in my dream that he commanded them to lie 
down (Deut. xxxv. 2) ; which when they did, he chastised 
them sore, to teach them the good way wherein they should 
walk (2 Chron. vi. 26, 27); and as he chastised them, he 
said, " As many as I love I rebuke and chasten ; be zealous, 
therefore, and repent" (Rev. iii. 19). This done, he bid them 
go on their way, and take good heed to the other directions 
of the shepherds. So they thanked him for all his kindness, 
and went softly along the right way, singing : 

" Come hither, you that walk along the way; 
See how the pilgrims fare that go astray ! 
They catched are in an entangling net, 
'Cause they good counsel lightly did forget. 
'Tis true they rescued were, hut yet you see 
They're scourged to hoot. Let this your caution he." 

Now, after a while, they perceived afar off, one coming 
softly and alone, all along the highway, to meet them. Then 
said Christian to his fellow, " Yonder is a man with his back 
toward Zion, and he is coming to meet us." 

Hope. I see him; let us take heed to ourselves now, lest 
he should prove a flatterer also. 

So he drew nearer and nearer, and at last came up unto 
them. His name was Atheist, and he asked them whither 
they were going ? 

Chr. We are going to the Mount Zion. 

Then Atheist fell into a very great laughter. 

Chr. What is the meaning of your laughter ? 



. 



182 ATHEIST MEETS AND DERIDES THEM. 

Atheist. I laugh to see what ignorant persons yon are, to 
take npon yon so tedious a journey, and yet are like to have 
nothing but your travel for your pains. 

Chr. Why, man ; do you think we shall not be received ? 
Ath. Received ! There is no such place as you dream of 
in all this world. 

Chr. But there is in the world to come. 
Ath. When I was at home in mine own country, I heard 
as you now affirm, and from that hearing went out to see, and 
have been seeking this city these twenty years, but find no 
more of it than I did the first day I set out (Jer. xvii. 15 ; 
Eccles. x. 15). 

Chr. We have both heard and believe that there is such a 
place to be found. 

Ath. Had not I, when at home, believed, I had not come 
thus far to seek ; but finding none (and yet I should, had 
there been such a place to be found, for I have gone to seek 
it farther than you), I am going back again, and will seek to 
refresh myself with the things that I then cast away for hopes 
of that which 1 now see is not. 

Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful, his fellow, " Is it 
true which this man hath said ? " 

Hope. " Take heed, he is one of the flatterers ; remember 
what it hath cost us once already for our hearkening to such 
kind of fellows. What ! no Mount Zion ! Did we not see 
from the Delectable Mountains the gate of the city ? Also, 
are we not now to walk by faith ? Let us go on," said Hope- 
ful, " lest the man with the whip overtake us again. You 
should have taught me that lesson, which I will round you in 
the ears withal : ' Cease, my son, to hear the instruction that 
causeth to err from the words of knowledge.' I say, my 
brother, cease to hear him, and let us believe to the saving of 
the soul " (Prov. xix. 27 ; Heb. x. 39). 

Chr. My brother, I did not put the question to thee for 
that I doubted of the truth of our belief myself 5 but to prove 
thee, and to fetch from thee a fruit of the honesty of thy 
heart. As for this man, I know that he is blinded by the 
god of this world : let thee and I go on, knowing that 




we have belief of tlie truth, and no lie is of the truth 
(1 John ii. 21). 

Hope. Now do I rejoice in hope of the glory of God. 

So they turned away from the man ; and he, langhing at 
them, went his way. 

I saw then in my dream, that they went till they came into 
a certain country, whose air naturally tended to make one 
drowsy, if he came a stranger into it. And here Hopeful 
began to be very dull and heavy of sleep ; wherefore he said 
unto Christian, "I do now begin to grow so drowsy, that I 
can scarcely hold up mine eyes ; let us lie down here and take 
one nap." 



184 THEY ARRIVE ON THE ENCHANTED GROUND. 

Chr. " By no means," said the other, "lest sleeping, we 
never awake more." 

Hope. Why, my brother, sleep is sweet to the labouring 
man ; we may be refreshed if we take a nap. 

Chr. Do you not remember that one of the shepherds bid 
us beware of the enchanted ground? He meant by that, 
that we should beware of sleeping ; wherefore let us not sleep 
as do others, but let us watch and be sober (1 Thess. v. 6). 

Hope. I acknowledge myself in a fault ; and had I been 
here alome, I had, by sleeping, run the danger of death. I 
see it is true that the Wise Man saith, " Two are better than 
one " (Eccles. iv. 9). Hitherto hath thy company been my 
mercy ; and thou shalt have a good reward for thy labour. 

Chr. " Now," then said Christian, " to prevent drowsiness 
in this place, let us fall into good discourse." 

Hope. " With all my heart," said the other. 

Chr. Where shall we begin ? 

Hope. Where God began with us. But do you begin, if 
you please. 

Chr. I will sing you first this song : 

" When saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither, 
And hear how these two pilgrims talk together : 
Yea, let them learn of them, in any wise, 
Thus to keep ope their drowsy slumhering eyes. 
Saints' fellowship, if it be managed well, 
Keeps them awake, and that in spite of hell." 

Chr. Then Christian began, and said, "I will ask you a 
question. How came you to think at first of so doing as you 
do now ? " 

Hope. Do you mean, how came I at first to look after the 
good of my soul ? 

Chr. Yes, that is my meaning. 

Hope. I continued a great while in the delight of those 
things which were seen and sold at our fair ; things which, as 
I believe now, would have (had I continued in them still) 
drowned me in perdition and destruction. 



l ,."? — — gv 




Chr. What things were they ? 

Hope. All the treasures and riches of the world. Also I 
delighted much in rioting, revelling, drinking, swearing, lying, 
uncleanness, Sabbath-breaking, and what not, that tended to 
destroy the soul. But I found at last, by hearing and con- 
sidering of things that are divine, which indeed I heard of 
you, as also of beloved Faithful, that was put to death for his 
faith and good-living in Vanity Fair, that the end of these 
things is death, and that for these things' sake the wrath 
of God cometh upon the children of disobedience (Rom. vi. 
21-23 ; Eph. v. 6). 

Che. And did you presently fall under the power of this 
conviction ? 

Hope. No ; I was not willing presently to know the evil of 
sin, nor the damnation that follows upon the commission of 
it ; but endeavoured, when my mind at first began to be 
shaken with the word, to shut mine eyes against the light 
thereof. 

Chr. But what was the cause of your carrying of it thus to 
the first workings of God's blessed Spirit upon you ? 

Hope. The causes were, — 1. I was ignorant that this was 
the work of God upon me. I never thought that, by awaken- 

B B 



186 hoieful's account of his conversion. 

ings for sin, God at first begins the conversion of a sinner. 
2. Sin was yet very sweet to my flesh, and I was loth to 
leave it. 3. I could not tell how to part with mine old com- 
panions, their presence and actions were so desirable unto 
me. 4. The hours in which convictions were upon me were 
such troublesome and such heart- affrighting hours, that I 
could not bear, no not so much as the remembrance of them 
upon my heart. 

Chr. Then, as it seems, sometimes you got rid of your 
trouble. 

Hope. Yes, verily ; but it would come into my mind again, 
and then I should be as bad, nay worse, than I was before. 

Che. Why, what was it that brought your sins to mind 
again ? 

Hope. Many tilings, as, — 

1. If I did but meet a good man in the streets ; or, 

2. If I have heard any read in the Bible ; or, ' 

3. If mine head did begin to ache ; or, 

4. If I were told that some of my neighbours were sick ; 
or, 

5. If I heard the bell toll for some that were dead ; or, 

6. If I thought of dying myself ; or, 

7. If I heard that sudden death happened to others. 

8. But especially, when I thought of myself, that I must 
quickly come to judgment. 

Chr. And could you at any time with ease get off the guilt 
of sin, when by any of these ways it came upon you ? 

Hope. No, not latterly ; for then they got faster hold of 
my conscience. And then, if I did but think of going back 
to sin (though my mind was turned against it), it would be 
double torment to me. 

Chr. And how did you do then? 

Hope. I thought I must endeavour to mend my life, for 
else, thought I, I am sure to be damned. 

Chr. And did you endeavour to mend ? 

Hope. Yes ; and fled from, not only my sins, but sinful 
company too, and betook me to religious duties, as praying, 
reading, weeping for sin, speaking truth to my neighbours, 




&c. These tilings I did, with many others, too much here to 
relate. 

Chr. And did yon think yourself well then ? 

Hope. Yes, for a while ; but at the last my trouble came 
tumbling upon me again, and that over the neck of all my 
reformations. 

Che. How came that about, since you were now reformed ? 



188 



HOPEFUL S ACCOUNT OF HIS CONVERSION. 



Hope. There were several things brought it upon me, 
especially such sayings as these : " All our righteousnesses 
are as filthy rags." " By the works of the Law no man shall 
he justified." " When you have done all things, say, We are 
unprofitable:"* with many more such like. From whence 
I began to reason with myself thus : If all my righteousnesses 
are filthy rags, if by the deeds of the Law no man can be 
justified, and if, when we have done all, we are yet unprofit- 
able, then 'tis but a folly to think of heaven by the Law. I 
further thought thus : If a man runs an £100 into the shop- 
keeper's debt, and after that shall pay for all that he shall 
fetch, yet if his old debt stands still in the book uncrossed, 
for that the shopkeeper may sue him, and cast him into prison 
till he shall pay the debt. 

Chr. Well, and how did you apply this to yourself? 

Hope. Why, I thought thus with myself: I have by my 

* Isa. lxiv. 6; Gal. ii. 16 j Luke xvii. 10. 




HOW HE LEARNED THE WAY OF JUSTIFICATION. 189 

sins run a great way into God's book, and that my now re- 
forming will not pay off that score ; therefore I should think 
still, under all my present amendments, But how shall I be 
freed from that damnation that I have brought myself in 
danger of by my former transgressions ? 

Chr. A very good application ; but pray go on. 

Hope. Another thing that hath troubled me, even since my 
late amendments, is, that if I look narrowly into the best of 
what I do now, I still see sin, new sin, mixing itself with the 
best of that I do. So that now I am forced to conclude, that 
notwithstanding my former fond conceits of myself and 
duties, I have committed sin enough in one duty to send me 
to hell, though my former life had been faultless. 

Chr. And what did you do then ? 

Hope. Do ! I could not tell what to do, till I brake my 
mind to Faithful ; for he and I were well acquainted : and he 
told me, " That unless I could obtain the righteousness of a 
man that never had sinned, neither mine own nor all the 
righteousness of the world could save me." 

Chr. And did you think he spake true ? 

Hope. Had he told me so when I was pleased and satisfied 
with mine own amendments, I had called him fool for his 
pains ; but now, since I see my own infirmity, and the sin 
that cleaves to my best performance, I have been forced to be 
of his opinion. 

Chr. But did you think, when at first he suggested it to 
you, that there was such a man to be found, of whom it might 
justly be said, That he never committed sin ? 

Hope. I must confess the words at first sounded strangely ; 
but after a little more talk and company with him, I had full 
conviction about it. 

Chr. And did you ask him what man this was, and how 
you must be justified by him ? 

Hope. Yes ; and he told me it was the Lord Jesus, that 
dwelleth on the right hand of the Most High.* " And thus," 
said he, " you must be justified by Him, even by trusting to 

* Heb. x.; Rom. iv.; Col. i.; 1 Tet. i. 



190 hopeful's account of his conversion. 

what He Lath done by Himself in the days of His flesh, and 
suffered when He did hang on the tree." I asked him 
further, " How that man's righteousness could be of that 
efficacy, to justify another before God?" And he told me, 
" He was the mighty God, and did what He did, and died the 
death also, not for Himself, but for me ; to whom His doings, 
and the worthiness of them, should be imputed, if I believed 
on Him." 

Chr. And what did you do then ? 

Hope. I made my objections against my believing, for that 

I thought He was not willing to save me. 

Chr. And what said Faithful to you then ? 

Hope. He bid me go to Him and see. Then I said, " It 

was presumption ;" but he said, "No ; for I was invited to 

come " (Matt. xi. 28). Then he gave me a book of Jesus His 

inditing, to encourage me the more freely to come ; and he 

said concerning that book, That every jot and tittle thereof 

stood firmer than heaven and earth (Matt. xxiv. 35). Then I 

asked him, ""What I must do when I came?" and he told 

me, I must entreat upon my knees, with all my heart and 

soul, the Father to reveal Him to me.* Then I asked him 

further, " How I must make my supplication to Him ? " and he 

said, " Go, and thou shalt find Him upon a mercy-seat, where 

He sits all the year long to give pardon and forgiveness to 

them that come."f I told him I knew not what to say when 

I came ; and he bid me say to this effect, " God be merciful 

to me a sinner, and make me to know and believe in Jesus 

Christ ; for I see that if His righteousness had not been, or I 

have not faith in that righteousness, I am utterly cast away. 

Lord, I have heard that Thou art a merciful God, and hast 

ordained that Thy Son Jesus Christ should be the saviour of 

the world; and moreover, that Thou art willing to bestow 

Him upon such a poor sinner as I am (and I am a sinner 

indeed) ; Lord, take therefore this opportunity, and magnify 

Thy grace in the salvation of my soul, through Thy Son Jesus 

Christ. Amen." 

* Ps. xcv. 6 ; Dan. vi. 10 ; Jer. xxix. 12, 13. 

t Exod. xxv. 22; Lev. xvi. 2; Numb. vii. 89; Heb. iv. 16. 




Chr. And did you do as you were bidden ? 

Hope. Yes ; over, and over, and over, 

Chr. And did the Father reveal His Son to you ? 

Hope. Not at the first, nor second, nor third, nor fourth, 
nor fifth, no, nor at the sixth time neither. 

Chr. What did you do then ? 

Hope. What ! why, I could not tell what to do. 

Chr. Had you not thoughts of leaving off praying ? 

Hope. Yes, a hundred times twice told. 

Chr. And what was the reason you did not ? 

Hope. I believed that that was true which had been told 
me, to wit, that, without the righteousness of this Christ, all 
the world could not save me ; and therefore thought I with 



192 HOW CHRIST WAS REVEALED TO HIM. 

myself, if I leave off I die, and I can but die at the throne of 
grace. And withal, this came into my mind, " If it tarry, 
wait for it, because it will surely come, and will not tarry " 
(Hab. ii. 3) ; so I continued praying until the Father shewed 
me His Son. 

Chr. And how was He revealed unto you ? 

Hope. I did not see Him with my bodily eyes, but with the 
eyes of mine understanding (Eph. i. 18, 19) ; and thus it 
was : One day I was very sad, I think sadder than at any one 
time in my life, and this sadness was through a fresh sight of 
the greatness and vileness of my sins ; and as I was then look- 
ing for nothing but hell, and the everlasting damnation of my 
soul, suddenly as I thought, I saw the Lord Jesus look down 
from heaven upon me, and saying, "Believe on the Lord 
Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved" (Acts xvi. 30, 31). 

But I replied, "Lord, I am a great, a very great sinner;" 
and He answered, "My grace is sufficient for thee " (2 Cor. 
xii. 9). Then I said, "But, Lord, what is believing?" and 
then I saw from that saying, " He that cometh to Me shall 
never hunger, and he that believe th on Me shall never thirst " 
(John vi. 35), that believing and coming was all one, and that 
he that came, that is, ran out in his heart and affections after 
salvation by Christ, he indeed believed in Christ. Then the 
water stood in mine eyes, and I asked farther, " But, Lord, may 
such a great sinner as I am be indeed accepted of Thee, and 
be saved by Thee ? " and I heard Him say, " And him that 
cometh to Me, I will in no wise cast out" (John vi. 37). 
Then I said, " But, how Lord, must I consider of Thee in my 
coming to Thee, that my faith may be placed aright upon 
Thee?" Then He said, "Christ Jesus came into the world 
to save sinners. He is the end of the law for righteousness 
to every one that believes ; He died for our sins, and rose 
again for our justification ; He loved us, and washed us from 
our sins in His own blood ; He is mediator between Grod and 
us ; He ever liveth to make intercession for us." * From all 
which I gathered, that I must look for righteousness in His 

* 1 Tim. i. 15; Rom. x. 4; iv.; Heb. vii. 24, 25. 




person, and for satisfaction for my sins by His blood ; that 
what He did in obedience to His Father's law, and in sub- 
mitting to the penalty thereof, was not for Himself, but for 
him that will accept it for his salvation, and be thankful. 
And now was my heart fall of joy, mine eyes fall of tears, 
and mine affections running over with love to the name, 
people, and ways of Jesus Christ. 

C C 



194 



IGNORANCE AGAIN JOINS THEIR COMPANY. 



Chr. This was a revelation of Christ to your soul indeed ; 
but tell me particularly what effect this had upon your spirit. 

Hope. It made me see that all the world, notwithstanding 
all the righteousness thereof, is in a state ot condemnation. 
It made me see that God the Father, though He be just, can 
justly justify the coming sinner. It made me greatly ashamed 
of the vileness of my former life, and confounded me with 
the sense of mine own ignorance ; for there never came thought 
into mine heart before now that shewed me so the beauty of 
Jesus Christ. It made me love a holy life, and long to do 
something for the honour and glory of the name of the Lord 
Jesus. Tea, I thought, that had I now a thousand gallons 
of blood in my body, I could spill it all for the sake of the 
Lord Jesus. 

I saw, then, in my dream, that Hopeful looked back and 
saw Ignorance, whom they had left behind, coming after. 
"Look," said he to Christian, "how far yonder youngster 
loitereth behind." 

Chr. Ay, ay, I see him ; he careth not for our company. 

Hope. But I trow it would not have hurt him had he kept 
pace with us hitherto. 




THEY ENTER INTO DISCOURSE. 195 

Chr. That's true ; but I warrant you he thinketh other- 
wise. 

Hope. " That I think he doth ; hut, however, let us tarry 
for him." So they did. 

Chr. Then Christian said to him, " Come away, man ; why 
do you stay so behind ? " 

Ign. I take my pleasure in walking alone, even more a great 
deal than in company, unless I like it the better. 

Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful (but softly), " Did I 
not tell you he cared not for our company ? but, however," 
said he, " come up, and let us talk away the time in this 
solitary place." Then directing his speech to Ignorance, he 
said, " Come, how do you ? how stands it between God and 
your soul now ? " 

Ign. I hope well, for I am always full of good motions, 
that come into my mind to comfort me as I walk. 

Chr. What good motions ? Pray tell us. 

Ign. Why, I think of Grod and heaven. 

Chr. So do the devils and damned souls. 

Ign. But I think of them and desire them. 

Chr. So do many that are never like to come there ; the 
soul of the sluggard desires, and hath nothing (Prov. 
xiii. 4). 

Ign. But I think of them, and leave all for them. 

Chr. That I doubt, for leaving of all is a hard matter ; yea, 
a harder matter than many are aware of. But why, or by 
what, art thou persuaded that thou hast left all for Grod and 
heaven ? 

Ign. My heart tells me so. 

Chr. The Wise Man says, " He that trusts his own heart 
is a fool " (Prov. xxviii. 26). 

Ign. This is spoken of an evil heart, but mine is a good 
one. 

Chr. But how dost thou prove that ? 

Ign. It comforts me in the hopes of heaven. 

Chr. That may be through its deceitfulness ; for a man's 
heart may minister comfort to him in the hopes of that thing 
for which he yet has no ground to hope. 




Ign. But my heart and life agree together, and therefore 
my hope is well grounded. 

Che. Who told thee that thy heart and life agree together ? 

Ign. My heart tells me so. 

Che. "Ask my fellow if I be a thief." Thy heart tells 
thes so ! Except the word of God beareth witness in this 
matter, other testimony is of no value. 

Ign. But is it not a good heart that has good thoughts ? 
and is not that a good life that 'is according to God's com- 
mandments ? 

Che. Yes, that is a good heart that hath good thoughts, 
and that is a good life that is according to God's command- 
ments ; but it is one thing indeed to have these, and another 
thing only to think so. 



WHAT ARE GOOD THOUGHTS. 197 

Ign. Pray what count you good thoughts, and a life ac- 
cording to God's commandments ? 

Che. There are good thoughts of divers kinds; some 
respecting ourselves, some God, some Christ, and some other 
things. 

Ign. What be good thoughts respecting ourselves ? 

Chr. Such as agree with the word of God. 

Ign. When do our thoughts of ourselves agree with the 
word of God ? 

Chr. When we pass the same judgment upon ourselves 
which the word passes. To explain myself : the word of God 
saith of persons in a natural condition, " There is none right- 
eous, there is none that doth good." It saith also, " That 
every imagination of the heart of man is only evil, and that 
continually " (Rom. iii. ; Gen. vi. 5). And again, " The 
imagination of man's heart is evil from his youth." Now, 
then, when we think thus of ourselves, having sense thereof, 
then are our thoughts good ones, because according to the 
word of God. 

Ign. I will never believe that my heart is thus bad. 

Chr. Therefore thou never hadst one good thought con- 
cerning thyself in thy life. But let me go on. As the word 
passeth a judgment upon our heart, so it passeth a judgment 
upon our ways ; and when our thoughts of our hearts and 
ways agree with the judgment which the word giveth of both, 
then are both good, because agreeing thereto. 

Ign. Make out your meaning. 

Chr. Why, the word of God saith, that man's ways are 
crooked ways ; not good, but perverse. It saith, they are 
naturally out of the good way, that they have not known it.* 
Now, when a man thus thinketh of his ways — I say, when 
he doth sensibly and with heart-humiliation thus think, then 
hath he good thoughts of his own ways, because his thoughts 
now agree with the judgment of the word of God. 

Ign. WTiat are good thoughts concerning God ? 

Chr. Even (as I have said concerning ourselves) when our 

* Ps. cxxv/5; Prov. ii. 15; Kom. iii. 




thoughts of God do agree with what the word saith of Him ; 
and that is, when we think of His being and attributes as the 
word hath taught, of which I cannot now discourse at large. 
But to speak of Him with reference to us : then we have 
right thoughts of God when we think that He knows us 
better than we know ourselves, and can see sin in us when 
and where we can see none in ourselves ; when we think He 
knows our inmost thoughts, and that our heart with all its 
depths is always open unto His eyes; also, when we think 
that all our righteousness stinks in his nostrils, and that 



ignorance's faith. 199 

therefore He cannot abide to see ns stand before Him in any 
confidence even of all our best performances. 

Ign. Do you think that I am such a fool as to think God 
can see no further than I ? or that I would come to God in 
the best of my performances ? 

Che. Why, how dost thou think in this matter ? 

Ign. Why, to be short, I think I must believe in Christ for 
justification. 

Chr. How! think thou must believe in Christ, when thou 
seest not thy need of Him ! Thou neither seest thy original 
nor actual infirmities, but hast such an opinion of thyself, 
and of what thou doest, as plainly renders thee to be one 
that did never see a necessity of Christ's personal righteous- 
ness to justify thee before God. How, then, dost thou say, 
" I believe in Christ ? " 

Ign. I believe well enough, for all that. 

Chr. How dost thou believe ? 

Ign. I believe that Christ died for sinners, and that I shall 
be justified before God from the curse, through His gracious 
acceptance of my obedience to His law ; or thus, Christ makes 
my duties that are religious acceptable to His Father by 
virtue of His merits, and so shall I be justified. 

Chr. Let me give an answer to this confession of thy 
faith : 

1. Thou believe st with a fantastical faith, for this faith is 
nowhere described in the word. 

2. Thou belie vest with a false faith, because it taketh justi- 
fication from the personal righteousness of Christ, and applies 
it to thy own. 

3. This faith maketh not Christ a justifier of thy person, 
but of thy actions ; and of thy person for thy actions' sake, 
which is false. 

4. Therefore this faith is deceitful, even such as will leave 
thee under wrath in the day of God Almighty ; for true 
justifying faith puts the soul (as sensible of its lost condition 
by the Law,) upon flying for refuge unto Christ's righteousness 
(which righteousness of His is not an act of grace by which 
He maketh for justification thy obedience accepted with God, 




but His personal obedience to the Law in doing and suffering 
for us what that required at our hands). This righteousness, 



ignorance's scornful reply. 201 

I say, true faith accepteth, under the skirt of which, the soul 
being shrouded, and by it presented as spotless before God, it 
is accepted, and acquit from condemnation. 

Ign. What ! would you have us trust to what Christ in His 
own person has done without us ! This conceit would loosen 
the reins of our lust, and tolerate us to live as we list ; for 
what matter how we live, if we may be justified by Christ's 
personal righteousness from all, when we believe it ? 

Chr. Ignorance is thy name, and as thy name is, so art 
thou ; even this thy answer demonstrateth what I say. Igno- 
rant thou art of what justifying righteousness is, and as igno- 
rant how to secure thy soul, through the faith of it, from the 
heavy wrath of God. Yea, thou also art ignorant of the true 
effects of saving faith in this righteousness of Christ, which 
is, to bow and win over the heart to God in Christ, to love 
His name, His word, ways, and people ; and not as thou igno- 
rantly imaginest. 

Hope. Ask him if ever he had Christ revealed to him from 
heaven ? 

Ign. What ! you are a man for revelations ! I do believe 
that what both you and all the rest of you say about that 
matter is but the fruit of distracted brains. 

Hope. Why, man, Christ is so hid in God from the natural 
apprehensions of the flesh, that He cannot by any man be 
savingly known, unless God the Father reveals Him to 
them. 

Ign. That is your faith, but not mine ; yet mine, I doubt 
not, is as good as yours, though I have not in my head so 
many whimsies as you. 

Chr. Give me leave to put in a word. You ought not so 
slightly to speak of this matter ; for this I will boldly affirm 
(even as my good companion hath done), that no man can 
know Jesus Christ but by the revelation of the Father ; yea, 
and faith too, by which the soul layeth hold upon Christ (if it 
be right), must be wrought by the exceeding greatness of 
His mighty power ;* the working of which faith, I perceive, 

* Matt. xi. 27; 1 Cor. xii. 3; Kph. i. 18, 19. 

D D 










M' £ 



poor Ignorance, thou art ignorant of. Be awakened, then, 
see thine own wretchedness, and fly to the Lord Jesus ; and 
by His righteousness, which is the righteousness of God (for 
He himself is God), thou shalt be delivered from condemnation. 

Ign. You go so fast, I cannot keep pace with you. Do you 
go on before ; I must stay awhile behind. 

Then they said : 



"Well, Ignorance, wilt thou yet foolish be, 
To slight good counsel ten times given thee ? 



CHRISTIAN COMMISERATES IGNORANCE. 203 

And if thou yet refuse it, thou shalt know 
Ere long the evil of thy doing so. 
Eemeinber, man, in time ; stoop, do not fear ; 
Grood counsel taken well, saves ; therefore hear. 
But if thou yet shalt slight it, thou wilt be 
The loser, Ignorance, I'll warrant thee." 

Then Christian addressed thus himself to his fellow : 

Chr. Well, come, my good Hopeful ; I perceive that thou 
and I must walk by ourselves again. 

So I saw in my dream that they went on a pace before, 
and Ignorance he came hobbling after. Then said Christian 
to his companion, " It pities me much for this poor man ; it 
will certainly go ill with him at last." 

Hope. Alas, there are abundance in our town in his condi- 
tion ; whole families, yea, whole streets (and that of pilgrims 
too) ; and if there be so many in our parts, how many, think 
you, must there be in the place where he was born ? 

Chr. Indeed the Word saith, " He hath blinded their eyes, 
lest they should see," &c. But now we are by ourselves, 
what do you think of such men? Have they at no time, 
think you, convictions of sin, and so, consequently, fears that 
their state is dangerous ? 

Hope. Nay, do you answer that question yourself, for you 
are the elder man. 

Chr. Then I say sometimes (as I think) they may ; but 
they, being naturally ignorant, understand not that such con- 
victions tend to their good ; and therefore they do desperately 
seek to stifle them, and presumptuously continue to natter 
themselves in the way of their own hearts. 

Hope. I do believe as you say, that fear tends much to 
men's good, and to make them right, at their beginning, to 
go on pilgrimage. 

Chr, Without all doubt it doth, if it be right ; for so says 
the Word, " The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wis- 
dom." * 

* Job xxviii. 28; Ps. cxi. 10; Prov. i. 7; ix. 10. 



204 



THE NATURE OF EIGHT FEAR. 



Hope. How will you describe 
right fear ? 

Chr. True, or right fear, is 
discovered by three things. 

1. By its rise. It is caused 
by saving convictions for sin. 

2. It drive th the soul to lay 
b'st hold of Christ for salvation. 

3. It begetteth and continueth 
in the soul a great reve- 
rence of God, His Word, 
and ways, keeping it ten- 
der, and making it afraid 
to turn from them, to the 
right hand or to the left, 
to any thing that may dis- 
honour God, break its 
peace, grieve the Spirit, or 
cause the enemy to speak 
reproachfully. 

Hope. Well said; 
I believe you have 
said the truth. Are 
we now almost got 
past the enchanted 
ground ? 

Chr. Why, are 
you weary of this 
discourse ? 

Hope. No, verily; 

but that I would 

know where we are. 

Chr. We have not now above two miles farther to go 

thereon. But let us return to our matter. Now the ignorant 

know not that such convictions that tend to put them in fear 

are for their good, and therefore they seek to stifle them. 

Hope. How do they seek to stifle them ? 




DISCOURSE CONCERNING TEMPORARY. 



205 



Chr. 1. They think that those fears are wrought "by the 
devil (though indeed they are wrought of God) ; and thinking 
so, they resist them, as things that directly teed to their 
overthrow. 2. They also think that these fears tend to the 
spoiling of their faith (when, alas for them, poor men that 
they are, they have none at all), and therefore they harden 
their hearts against them. 3. They presume they ought not 
to fear, and therefore, in despite of them, wax presumptuously 
confident. 4. They see that these fears tend to take away 
from them their pitiful self-holiness, and therefore they resist 
them with all their might. 

Hope. I know something of this myself; for before I knew 
myself it was so with me. 

Chr. Well, we will leave at this time our neighbour Igno- 
rance by himself, and fall upon another profitable question. 

Hope. With all my heart ; but you shall still begin. 

Chr. Well, then, did you not know, about ten years ago, 
one Temporary in your parts, who was a forward man in 
religion then ? 

Hope. Know him ! Yes ; he dwelt in Graceless, a town 
about two miles off of Honesty, and he dwelt next door to 
one Turnback. 



♦?,. 




206 temporary's character. 

Chr. Bight; he dwelt under the same roof with him. 
Well, that man was much awakened once. I believe that then 
he had some sight of his sins, and of the wages that was due 
thereto , 

Hope. I am of your mind ; for (my house not being above 
three miles from him) he would ofttimes come to me, and 
that with many tears. Truly, I pitied the man, and was not 
altogether without hope of him ; but one may see it is not 
every one that cries " Lord, Lord." 

Chr. He told me once, that he was resolved to go on 
pilgrimage, as we do now ; but all of a sudden he grew 
acquainted with one Save- self, and then he became a stranger 
to me. 

Hope. Now, since we are talking about him, let us a little 
inquire into the reason of the sudden backsliding of him and 
such others. 

Chr. It may be very profitable ; but do you begin. 
Hope. Well, then, there are in my judgment four reasons 
for it : 

lstly. Though the consciences of such men are awakened, 
yet their minds are not changed ; therefore, when the power 
of guilt weareth away, that which provoked them to be reli- 
gious ceaseth. Wherefore, they naturally turn to their own 
course again ; even as we see the dog that is sick of what 
he hath eaten, so long as his sickness prevails, he vomits 
and casts up all ; not that he doth this of a free mind (if 
we may say a dog has a mind), but because it troubleth his 
stomach; but now, when his sickness is over, and so his 
stomach eased, his desires being not at all alienate from his 
vomit, he turns him about and licks up all. And so it is true 
which is written, " The dog is turned to his own vomit again " 
(2 Pet. ii. 22). This, I say, being hot for heaven, by virtue 
only of the sense and fear of the torments of hell, as their 
sense of hell and the fear of damnation chills and cools, so 
their desires for heaven and salvation cool also. So then it 
comes to pass, that when their guilt and fear is gone, their 
desires for heaven and happiness die, and they return to their 
course asrain. 




2dly. Another reason is, they have slavish fears that do 
overmaster them. I speak now of the fears that they have 
of men: "For the fear of men bringeth a snare" (Prov. 
xxix. 25). So then, though they seem to be hot for heaven, 
so long as the flames of hell are about their ears, yet when 
that terror is a little over, they betake themselves to second 
thoughts ; namely, that 'tis good to be wise, and not to run 
(for they know not what) the hazard of losing all, or at least 
of bringing themselves into unavoidable and unnecessary 
troubles ; and so they fall in with the world again. 

3dly. The shame that attends religion lies also as a block 
in their way. They are proud and haughty, and religion in 
their eye is low and contemptible ; therefore, when they have 
lost their sense of hell and wrath to come, they return again 
to their former course. \ 



208 THE PEOGEESS OF APOSTACY. 

4thly. Guilt, and to meditate terror, are grievous to them ; 
they like not to see their misery before they come into it. 
Though perhaps the sight of it first, if they loved that sight, 
might make them fly whither the righteous fly and are safe ; 
but because they do, as I hinted before, even shun the thoughts 
of guilt and terror ; therefore, when once they are rid of 
their awakenings about the terrors and wrath of God, they 
harden their hearts gladly, and choose such ways as will 
harden them more and more. 

Che. You are pretty near the business ; for the bottom of 
all is, for want of a change in their mind and will. And 
therefore they are but like the felon that standeth before the 
judge : he quakes and trembles, and seems to repent most 
heartily ; but the bottom of all is, the fear of the halter, not 
of any detestation of the offence ; as is evident, because, let 
but this man have his liberty, and he will be a thief, and so a 
rogue still ; whereas, if his mind was changed he would be 
otherwise. 

Hope. Now I have shewed you the reasons of their going 
back, do you shew me the manner thereof. 

Che. So I will willingly. 

1. They draw off their thoughts all that they, may from 
the remembrance of God, death, and judgment to come. 

2. Then they cast off by degrees private duties, as closet 
prayer, curbing their lusts, watching, sorrow for sin, and the 
like. 

3. Then they shun the company of lively and warm Chris- 
tians. 

4. After that they grow cold to public duty, as hearing, 
reading, godly conference, and the like. 

5. Then they begin to pick holes, as we say, in the coats 
of some of "the godly, and that devilishly, that they may have 
a seeming colour to throw religion (for the sake of some 
infirmity they have spied in them) behind their backs. 

6. Then they begin to adhere to, and associate themselves 
with, carnal, loose, and wanton men. 

7. Then they give way to carnal and wanton discourses in 
secret \ and glad are they if they can see such things in any 



THE LAND OF BEULAH. 



209 



that are counted honest, that they may the more boldly do it 
through their example. 

8. After this they begin to play with little sins openly. 

9. And then, being hardened, they shew themselves as they 
are. Thus, being launched again into the gulf of misery, 
unless a miracle of grace prevent it, they everlastingly perish 
in their own deceivings. 

Now I saw in my dream, that, by this time, the pilgrims 
were got over the Enchanted Ground, and entering in the 
country of Beulah (Isa. lxii. 4), whose air was very sweet 



* /w 



«A 












X 



Sw\ M 




E E 



210 THE PILGRIMS FALL SICK. 

and pleasant ; the way lying directly through it, they solaced 
themselves there for a season. Yea, here they heard con- 
tinually the singing of birds, and saw every day the flowers 
appear in the earth, and heard the voice of the turtle in the 
land (Cant. ii. 10-12). In this country the sun shineth night 
and day ; wherefore this was beyond the Valley of the Shadow 
of Death, and also out of the reach of Giant Despair, neither 
could they from this place so much as see Doubting Castle. 
Here they were within sight of the city they were going to, 
also here met them some of the inhabitants thereof; for in 
this land the shining ones commonly walked, because it was 
upon the borders of heaven. In this land also the contract 
between the bride and the bridegroom was renewed ; yea, 
here, " as the bridegroom rejoiceth over the bride, so did their 
God rejoice over them." Here they had no want of corn and 
wine, for in this place they met with abundance of what they 
had sought for in all their pilgrimage. Here they heard 
voices from out of the city, loud voices, saying, " Say ye to 
the daughter of Zion, Behold, thy salvation cometh ; behold, 
his reward is with him." Here all the inhabitants of the 
country called them " The holy people, the redeemed of the 
Lord," " Sought out," &c. (Cant. ii. 10-12 ; Isa. lxii. 4-12.) 

Now, as they walked in this land, they had more rejoicing 
than in parts more remote from the kingdom to which they 
were bound ; and drawing near to the city, they had yet a more 
perfect view thereof. It was builded of pearls and precious 
stones, also the street thereof was paved with gold ; so that, 
by reason of the natural glory of the city, and the reflection 
of the sunbeams upon it, Christian, with desire, fell sick; 
Hopeful also had a fit or two of the same disease ; where- 
fore, here they lay by it a while, crying out, because of their 
pangs, " If you see my beloved, tell him that I am sick of 
love." 

But being a little strengthened, and better able to bear 
their sickness, they walked on their way, and came yet nearer 
and nearer, where were orchards, vineyards, and gardens, and 
their gates opened into the highway. Now, as they came up 
to these places, behold the gardener stood in the way, to whom 




the pilgrims said, " Whose goodly vineyards and gardens are 
these ? " He answered, " They are the King's, and are planted 
here for His own delights, and also for the solace of pilgrims ;" 
so the gardener had them into the vineyards, and bid them 
refresh themselves with dainties (Dent, xxiii. 24). He also 
shewed them there the King's walks, and the arbonrs where 
He delighted to be ; and here they tarried and slept. 

Now I beheld in my dream that they talked more in their 
sleep at this time than ever they did in all their jonrney ; and 
being in a mnse thereabont, the gardener said even to me, 
" Wherefore mnsest thon at the matter ? It is the natnre of 
the frnit of the grapes of these vineyards to go down so 
sweetly as to canse the lips of them that are asleep to speak." 

So I saw that when they awoke they addressed themselves 



212 THE EIVER OF DEATH. 

to go up to the city ; but, as I said, the reflections of the sun 
upon the city (for the city was pure gold *) was so extremely 
glorious, that they could not, as yet, with open face behold it, 
but through an instrument made for that purpose. So I saw 
that, as they went on, there met them two men in raiment 
that shone like gold, also their faces shone as the light. 

These men asked the pilgrims whence they came, and they 
told them; they also asked them where they had lodged, 
what difficulties and dangers, what comforts and pleasures 
they had met in the way, and they told them. Then said the 
men that met them, "You have but two difficulties more to 
meet with, and then you are in the city." 

Christian then, and his companion, asked the men to go 
along with them, so they told them they would ; " But," said 
they, " you must obtain it by your own faith." So I saw in 
my dream that they went on together till they came in sight 
of the gate. 

Now I further saw that betwixt them and the gate was a 
river, but there was no bridge to go over ; the river was very 
deep. At the sight, therefore, of this river, the pilgrims were 
much stounded ; but the men that went with them said, " You 
must go through, or you cannot come at the gate." 

The pilgrims then began to inquire if there was no other 
way to the gate ; to which they answered, " Yes ; but there 
hath not any, save two, to wit, Enoch and Elijah, been per- 
mitted to tread that path since the foundation of the world, 
nor shall until the last trumpet shall sound" (1 Cor. xv. 51, 
52). ' The pilgrims then, especially Christian, began to despond 
in his mind, and looked this way and that, but no way could 
be found by them by which they might escape the river. 
Then they asked the men if the waters were all of a depth ? 
They said, "No ;" yet they could not help them in that case, 
for, said they, "you shall find it deeper or shallower as you 
believe in the King of the place." 

They then addressed themselves to the water ; and entering, 
Christian began to sink, and crying out to his good friend 

* Rev. xxi. 18; 2 Cor. iii. 18. 



THE PILGRIMS CROSS THE RIVER. 



213 



Hopeful, lie said, " I sink in deep waters, the "billows go over 
my head ; all his waves go over me. Selah." 

Then said the other, "Be of good cheer, my brother ; I 
feel the bottom, and it is good." Then said Christian, "Ah! 
my friend, the sorrows of death have compassed me abont ; I 
shall not see the land that flows with milk and honey;" and 
with that a great darkness and horror fell upon Christian, so 
that he could not see before him ; also here he, in great mea- 
sure, lost his senses, so that he could neither remember nor 
orderly talk of any of those sweet refreshments that he had 
met with in the way of his pilgrimage. But all the words 
that he spake still tended to discover that he had horror of 
mind, and hearty fears that he should die in that river, and 
never obtain entrance in at the gate ; here also, as they that 
stood by perceived, he was much in the troublesome thoughts 
of the sins that he had committed, both since and before he 
began to be a pilgrim. 'Twas also observed that he was 
troubled with apparitions of hobgoblins and evil spirits, for 
ever and anon he would intimate so much by words. Hope- 




214 THEY ARE RECEIVED BY TWO SHINING ONES. 

fill, therefore, here had rrmcli ado to keep his brother's head 
above water ; yea, sometimes he would be quite gone down, 
and then ere a while he would rise up again half dead. Hope- 
ful also would endeavour to comfort him, saying, "Brother, 
I see the gate, and men standing by it to receive us;" but 
Christian would answer, " 'Tis you, 'tis you they wait for ; 
you have been Hopeful ever since I knew you." "And so 
have you," said he to Christian. "Ah! brother," said he, 
" surely, if I was right, He would now arise to help me ; but, 
for my sins, He hath brought me into the snare, and hath left 
me." Then said Hopeful, " My brother, you have quite forgot 
the text where it's said of the wicked, ' There is no band in 
their death, but their strength is firm ; they are not troubled 
as other men, neither are they plagued like other men ' (Ps. 
lxxiii. 4, 5). These troubles and distresses that you go 
through in these waters are no sign that God hath forsaken 
you, but are sent to try you, whether you will call to mind 
that which heretofore you have received of His goodness, and 
live upon Him in your distresses." 

Then I saw in my dream that Christian was as in a muse 
awhile, to whom also Hopeful added this word, "Be of good 
cheer, Jesus Christ maketh thee whole ;" and with that Chris- 
tian brake out with a loud voice, " Oh, I see Him again ! and 
He tells me, ' When thou passest through the waters, I will 
be with thee ; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow 
thee' " (Isa. xliii. 2). Then they both took courage, and the 
enemy was after that as still as a stone, until they were gone 
over. Christian therefore presently found ground to stand 
upon, and so it followed that the rest of the river was but 
shallow. Thus they got over. Now upon the bank of the 
river, on the other side, they saw the two shining men again, 
who there waited for them ; wherefore, being come up out of 
the river, they saluted them, saying, "We are ministering 
spirits, sent forth to minister for those that shall be heirs of 
salvation." Thus they went along towards the gate. Now 
you must note that the city stood upon a mighty hill ; but 
the pilgrims went up that hill with ease, because they had 
these two men to lead them up by the arms ; also they had left 




their mortal garments behind them in the river ; for thongh 
they went in with them, they came ont withont them. They 
therefore went up here with much agility and speed, thongh 
the foundation upon which the city was framed was higher 
than the clouds. They therefore went up through the regions 
of the air, sweetly talking as they went, being comforted, be- 
cause they safely got over the river, and had such glorious 
companions to attend them. 



216 THEY DESCRIBE THE GLORY OP THE PLACE. 

The talk they had with the shining ones was about the 
glory of the place, who told them that the beauty and glory 
of it was inexpressible. " There," said they, " is the Mount 
Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem, the innumerable company of 
angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect (Heb. xii. 
22-24). You are going now," said they, "to the Paradise 
of God, wherein you shall see the tree of life, and eat of the 
never-fading fruits thereof; and when you come there you 
shall have white robes given you, and your walk and talk 
shall be every day with the King, even all the days of eter- 
nity (Rev. ii. 7 ; iii. 4 ; xxi. 1). There you shall not see 
again such things as you saw when you were in the lower 
region upon the earth, to wit, sorrow, sickness, affliction, 
and death, for the former things are passed away (Isa. 
lxv. 16). You are going now to Abraham, to Isaac, and 
Jacob, and to the prophets ; men that God hath taken 
away from the evil to come, and that are now resting upon 
their beds, each one walking in his righteousness" (Isa. 
lvii. 1, 2). The men then asked, "What must we do in 
the holy place?" To whom it was answered, "You must 
there receive the comfort of all your toil, and have joy for 
all your sorrow ; you must reap what you have sown, even the 
fruit of all your prayers and tears and sufferings for the 
King by the way (Gal. vi. 7). In that place you must wear 
crowns of gold, and enjoy the perpetual sight and visions of 
the Holy One, for there you shall see Him as He is (1 John 
iii. 2). There, also, you shall serve Him continually with 
praise, with shouting, and thanksgiving, whom you desired 
to serve in the world, though with much difficulty, because of 
the infirmity of your flesh. There your eyes shall be delighted 
with seeing, and your ears with hearing, the pleasant voice of 
the mighty One. There you shall enjoy your friends again, 
that are got thither before you ; and there you shall with joy 
receive even every one that follows into the holy place after 
you. There, also, you shall be clothed with glory and 
majesty, and put into an equipage fit to ride out with the 
King of Glory. When He shall come with sound of trumpet 







Vv 



v %Jm 




in the clouds, as upon the 
wings of the wind, you 
shall come with Hini ; 
and when He shall sit 
upon the Throne of Judg- 
ment, you shall sit by wp 
Him ; yea, and when He JL 
shall pass sentence upon \^E> 



¥< 



all the workers of ini- jj|/|v| 

quity, let them be angels ^fW^^m^i^^W -y 

or men, you also shall 1A// WmL f^^^^^tw\ 

have a voice in that judg- H,L M 

ment, because they were [&fif \ J |j 

His and your enemies. 

Also, when He shall again 

return to the city, you 

shall go too, with sound 

of trumpet, and be ever 

with Him." * 



* 1 Thess. iv. 13-16; Jude 14; Dan. vii. 9, 10; 1 Cor. vi. 2, 3. 



F F 



218 THEY AEE WELCOMED BY THE HEAVENLY HOST. 

Now, while they were thus drawing towards the gate, 
behold a company of the heavenly host came ont to meet 
them ; to whom it was said, by the other two shining ones, 
"These are the men that have loved our Lord when they 
were in the world, and that have left all for His holy Name, 
and He hath sent us to fetch them, and we have brought them 
thus far on their desired journey, that they may go in and 
look their Redeemer in the face with joy." Then the 
heavenly host gave a great shout, saying, " Blessed are they 
that are called to the marriage-supper of the Lamb " 
(Rev. xix.). 

There came out also at this time, to meet them, several of 
4he King's trumpeters, clothed in white and shining raiment, 
who, with melodious noises, and loud, made even the heavens 
to echo with their sound. These trumpeters saluted Christian 
and his fellow with ten thousand welcomes, from the world ; 
and this they did with shouting and sound of trumpet. 

This done, they compassed them round on every side : 
some went before, some behind, and some on the right hand, 
some on the left (as 'twere to guard them through the upper 
regions), continually sounding as they went, with melodious 
noise, in notes on high ; so that the very sight was, to them 
that could behold it, as if heaven itself was come down to 
meet them. Thus, therefore, they walked on together ; and 
as they walked, ever and anon these trumpeters, even, with 
joyful sound, would, by mixing their music with looks and 
gestures, still signify to Christian and his brother how wel- 
come they were into their company, and with what gladness 
they came to meet them. And^now were these two men, as 
'twere, in heaven, before they came at it, being swallowed up 
with the sight of angels, and with hearing of their melodious 
notes. Here also they had the city itself in view ; and they 
thought they heard all the bells therein to ring, to welcome 
them thereto ; but, above all, the warm and joyful thoughts 
that they had about their own dwelling there, with such 
company, and that for ever and ever. Oh, by what tongue or 
pen can their glorious joy be expressed ! And thus they came 
up to the gate. 




Now, when they were come up to the gate, there was 
written over it, in letters of gold, " Blessed are they that 
do His commandments, that they may have right to the tree 
of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city" 
(Rev. xxii. 24). 

Then I saw in my dream, that the shining men bid them 
call at the gate, the which when they did, some from above 
looked over the gate ; to wit, Enoch, Moses, and Elijah, &c, 
to whom it was said, " These pilgrims are come from the city 
of Destruction, for the love that they bare to the King of this 
place." And then the pilgrims gave in unto them each man 
his certificate, which they had received in the beginning ; 



220 IGNORANCE ALSO CROSSES THE RIYER ; 

those, therefore, were carried in to the King, who, when He 
had read them, said, "Where are the men?" To whom it 
was answered, " They are standing withont the gate." The 
King then commanded to open the gate, " That the righteons 
nation," said He, "that keepeth truth, may enter in" 
(Isa. xxvi. 2). 

Now I saw in my dream, that these two men went in at 
the gate ; and lo, as they entered, they were transfigured ; 
and they had raiment put on that shone like gold. There 
was also that met them with harps and crowns, and gave them 
to them ; the harps to praise withal, and the crowns in token 
of honour ; then I heard in my dream, that all the bells in the 
city rang again for joy ; and that it was said unto them, 
" Enter ye into the joy of your Lord." I also heard the 
men themselves, that they sang with a loud voice, saying, 
" Blessing, honour, glory, and power, be to Him that sitteth 
upon the throne, and to the Lamb for ever and ever" 
(Rev. v. 13, 14). 

ISTow, just as the gates were opened to let in the men, I 
looked in after them ; and behold, the city shone like the 
sun, the streets also were paved with gold, and in them walked 
many men, with crowns on their heads, palms in their bands, 
and golden harps to sing praises withal. 

There were also of them that had wings ; and they 
answered one another without intermission, saying, "Holy, 
holy, holy, is the Lord." And after that they shut up the 
gates, which when I had seen, I wished myself among them. 

ISTow, while I was gazing upon all these things, I turned 
my head to look back, and saw Ignorance come up to the 
river side : but he soon got over, and that without half that 
difficulty which the other two men met with. For it happened 
that there was then in that place one Vain-hope, a ferryman, 
that with his boat helped him over : so he, as the other I saw, 
did ascend the hill to come up to the gate ; only he came 
alone, neither did any man meet him with the least en- 
couragement. When he was come up to the gate, he looked up 
to the writing that was above ; and then began to knock, 
supposing that entrance should have been quickly administered 



BUT IS REPULSED: HIS FATE. 221 

to him ; but he was asked by the men that looked over the 
top of the gate, " Whence came yon ? and what would yon 
have ? " He answered, " I have eat and drank in the presence 
of the King, and He has tanght in our streets." Then they 
asked him for his certificate, that they might go in and shew 
it to the King. So he fumbled in his bosom for one, and 
found none. Then said they, " Have you none?" But the 
man answered never a word. So they told the King ; but He 
would not come down to see him, but commanded the two 
shining ones that conducted Christian and Hopeful to the city, 
to go out, and take Ignorance, and bind him hand and foot, 
and have him away. Then they took him up, and carried 
him through the air to the door that I saw in the side of the 
hill, and put him in there. Then I saw that there was a way 
to hell, even from the gates of heaven, as well as from the 
City of Destruction. So I awoke, and behold it was a 
dream ! 





%\t €m\mm> 



\ 



Now, reader, I have told my dream to thee ; 
See if thou canst interpret it to me, 
Or to thyself, or neighbour : but take heed 
Of misinterpreting ; for that, instead 
Of doing good, will but thyself abuse : 
By misinterpreting evil ensues. 

Take heed also that thou be not extreme 
In playing with the outside of my dream ; 
Nor let my figure, or similitude, 
Put thee into a laughter or a feud. 
Leave this for boys and fools ; but as for thee, 
Do thou the substance of my matter see. 

Put by the curtains, look within my veil ; 
Turn up my metaphors, and do not fail 
There, if thou seekest them, such things to find 
As will be helpful to an honest mind. 

What of my dross thou findest there, be bold 
To throw away, but yet preserve the gold. 
What if my gold be wrapped up in ore ? 
None throws away the apple for the core. 
But if thou shalt cast all away as vain, 
I know not but 'twill make me dream again. 




jc l^fgrim's ^xagicm. 



THE SECOND PART. 




AUTHOR'S WAY OF SENDING FORTH 




MQnh Dart 



THE PILGRIM. 



now, my little "book, to every place, 
Where my first pilgrim has but shewn his face. 
Call at their door; if any say, ' ' Who's there ?" 
Then answer thou, " Christiana is here." 
If they bid thee come in, then enter thou 
With all thy boys. And then, as thou know'st 

how, 
Tell who they are, also from whence they came: 
Perhaps they'll know them by their looks, or 

name : 
But if they should not, ask them yet again 
If formerly they did not entertain 
One Christian, a pilgrim. If they say 
They did, and was delighted in his way, 




G G 



226 



THE AUTHOR S WAT OF 



p^ 



S.®£ 



Then let them know that those related were 
Unto him ; yea, his wife and children are. 
Tell them that they have left their house 

and home, 
Are turned pilgrims, seek a world to come ; 
That they have met with hardships in the 

way, 
That they do meet with troubles night and 

day; 
That they have trod on serpents, fought with 

devils, 
Have also overcome a many evils. 
Yea, tell them also of the next who have, 
Of love to pilgrimage, been stout and brave 
Defenders of that way, and how they still 
Refuse this world to do their Father's will. 
Go, tell them also of those dainty things 
That pilgrimage unto the pilgrim brings. 
Let them acquainted be, too, how they are 
Beloved of their King, under His care ; 
What goodly mansions for them He pro- 
vides; 
Though they meet with rough winds and 

swelling tides, 
How brave a calm they will enjoy at last, 
Who to their Lord and by His ways hold 

fast. 
Perhaps with heart and hand they will 

embrace 
Thee, as they did my firstling, and will grace 
Thee and thy fellows with such cheer and 

fare, 
As shew will they of pilgrims lovers are. 



I', 



FIRST OBJECTION. 

But how, if they will not believe of me 
That I am truly thine ? 'cause some there be 
That counterfeit the pilgrim, and his name ; 
Seek by disguise to seem the very same ; 
And by that means have wrought themselves 

into 
The hands and houses of I know not who. 



SENDING FORTH HIS SECOND PART. 



227 




'Tis true, some have of late, to counter- 
feit 
My pilgrim, to their own my title set ; 
Yea, others half my name and title too 
Have stitched to their book, to make them 

do. 
But yet they, by their features, do declare 
Themselves not mine to be, whose' er they 
are. 
If such thou meet'st with, then thine only 
way, 
Before them all, is, to say out thy say 
In thine own native language, which no 

man 
Now useth, nor with ease dissemble can. 
If, after all, they still of you shall doubt, 
Thinking that you, like gipsies, go about, 
In naughty-wise the country to defile, 
Or that you seek good people to beguile 
With things unwarrantable, — send for me, 
And I will testify you pilgrims be ; 
Yea, I will testify that only you 
My pilgrims are, and that alone will do. 

SECOND OBJECTION. 

But yet, perhaps, I may inquire for him 
Of those that wish him damned life and 

limb. 
What shall I do when I, at such a door, 
For pilgrims ask, and they shall rage the 



Fright not thyself, my book, for such 

bugbears 
Are nothing else but ground for groundless 

fears. 
My pilgrim's book has travell'd sea and 

land, 
Yet could I never come to understand 






m 





0&i n 




228 



THE AUTHOR S WAY OF 



ftJ 



~W 



rfi 




That it was slighted, or turn'd out of door 
By any kingdom, were they rich or poor. 
In France and Flanders, where men kill 
each other, 
My pilgrim is esteem' d a friend, a brother. 

In Holland too 'tis said, as I am told, 
My pilgrim is with some worth more than 
gold, 
Highlanders and wild Irish can agree, 
My pilgrim should familiar with them he. 

'Tis in New England under such advance, 
Receives there so much loving countenance, 
As to he trimm'd, new-clothed, and deek'd 

with gems, 
That it may shew its features and its limbs ; 
Yet more, so comely doth my pilgrim walk, 
That of him thousands daily sing and talk. 
If you draw nearer home, it will appear 
My pilgrim knows no ground of shame or 

fear. 
City and country will him entertain 
With " Welcome, pilgrim." Yea, they can't 

refrain 
From smiling if my pilgrim he hut by, 
Or shews his head in any company. 

Brave gallants do my pilgrim hug and 
love, 
Esteem it much ; yea, value it above 
Things of a greater bulk ; yea, with delight, 
Say my lark's leg is better than a kite. 
Young ladies, and young gentlewomen 
too, 
Do no small kindness to my pilgrim shew ; 
Their cabinets, their bosoms, and their 

hearts 
My pilgrim has, 'cause he to them imparts 
His pretty riddles in such wholesome 

strains, 
As yields them profit double to their pains 
Of reading. Yea, I think I may be bold 



To say, some prize him far above their gold. 
The very children that do walk the street, 
If they do but my holy pilgrim meet, 




SENDING FORTH HIS SECOND PART. 



229 




n 



Salute him will, will wish him well, and say, 
" He is the only stripling of the day." 

They that have never seen him, yet admire 
What they have heard of him, and much 

desire 
To have his company, and hear him tell 
Those pilgrim stories which he knows so 

well. 
Yea, some who did not love him at the 

first, 
But call'd him fool and noddy, say they 

must, 
Now they have seen and heard him, him 

commend; 
And to those whom they love they do him 

send. 
Wherefore, my second part, thou need'st 

not be 
Afraid to shew thy head ; none can hurt thee 
That wish but well to him that went before, 
'Cause thou com'st after with a second store 
Of things as good, as rich, as profitable 
For young, for old, for staggering, and for 

stable. 

THIRD OBJECTION. 

But some there be that say he laughs too 

loud; 
And some do say his head is in a cloud. 
Some say, his words and stories are so dark, 
They know not how, by them, to find his 

mark. 

ANSWER. 

One may, I think, say, "Both his laughs 
and cries 
May well be guess'd at by his watery eyes." 
Some things are of that nature as to make 
One's fancy chuckle while his heart doth ache. 
When Jacob saw his Rachel with the sheep, 
He did at the same time both kiss and weep. 

Whereas some say a cloud is in his head, 
That doth but shew how wisdom's covered 



^ 






A 



> 



«? 



THE AUTHOR'S WAT OF 



With its own mantles ; and to stir the mind 
To a search after what it fain would find, 
Things that seem to be hid in words obscure, 
Do but the godly mind the more allure 
To study what those sayings should contain, 
That speak to us in such a cloudy strain. 

I also know a dark similitude 
"Will on the fancy more itself intrude, 
And will stick faster in the heart and head, 
Than things from similes not borrowed. 
' l /A Wherefore, my book, let no discourage- 

Kj^o ment 

^ y Hinder thy travels. Behold, thou art sent 

To friends, not foes; to friends that will 

give place 
To thee, thy pilgrims and thy words em- 
brace. 
Besides, what my first pilgrim left con- 
ceal' d, 
Thou, my brave second pilgrim, hast re- 

veal'd; 
What Christian left lock'd up, and went his 

way, 
Sweet Christiana opens with her key. 







FOURTH OBJECTION. 

But some love not the method of your 
first; 
Romance they count it ; throw 't away as 

dust. 
If I should meet with such, what should I 
say? 
| Must I slight them as they slight me, or nay ? 



*<- 



My Christiana, if with such thou meet, 
By all means in all loving wise them greet. 
Render them not reviling for revile ; 
But if they frown, I prithee on them smile. 
Perhaps 'tis nature, or some ill report, 
Has made them thus despise, or thus retort. 



SENDING FORTH HIS SECOND PART. 



231 





Some love no cheese, some love no fish, 
and some 
Love not their friends, nor their own house 

or home ; 
Some start at pig, slight chicken, love not 

fowl 
More than they love a cuckoo or an owl. 
Leave such, my Christiana, to their choice, 
And seek those who, to find thee, will re- 
joice. 
By no means strive, hut, in all humhle wise, 
Present thee to them in thy pilgrim's guise. 
Go, then, my little book, and shew to all 
That entertain, and hid thee welcome shall, 
What thou shalt keep close, shut up from 

the resb, 
And wish what thou shalt shew them may 

he bless' d 
To them for good; may make them choose 

to be 
Pilgrims better by far than thee or me. 

Go, then, I say, tell all men who thou art ; 
Say, "lam Christiana, and my part 
Is now, with my four sons, to tell you what 
It is for men to take a pilgrim's lot." 

Go also tell them who and what they be 
That now do go on pilgrimage with thee. 
Say, "Here's my neighbour Mercy, she is 

one 
That has long time with me a pilgrim gone ; 
Come, see her in her virgin face, and learn 
'Twixt idle ones and pilgrims to discern. 
Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize 
The world which is to come in any wise ; 
When little tripping maidens follow God, 
And leave old doating sinners to His rod, 
'Tis like those days wherein the young ones 

cried 
Hosannah to whom old ones did deride." 
Next tell them of old Honest, who you 

found, 
With his white hairs, treading the pilgrim's 

ground ; 



u 



232 








Qs v 





THE AUTHOR S WAT OF 
Yea, tell them how plain-hearted this man v \ : 



How after his good Lord he hare his cross. 
Perhaps with some gray head this may- 
prevail, 
With Christ to fall in love, and sin hewail. 
Tell them also how Master Fearing jyent 
On pilgrimage, and how the time he spent 
In solitariness, with fears and cries, 
And how at last he won the joyful prize. 
He was a good man, though much down in 

spirit ; 
He is a good man, and doth life inherit. 
Tell them of Master Feeble -mind also, 
Who, not before, hut still behind would go ; 
Shew them also how he had like been slain, 
And how one Great-heart did his life regain. 
This man was true of heart, though weak in 

grace ; 
One might true godliness read in his face. 

Then tell them of Master Ready-to-halt, 
A man with crutches, but much without fault ; 
Tell them how Master Feeble -mind and he 
Did love, and in opinions much agree. 
And let all know, though weakness was 

their chance, 
Yet sometimes one could sing, the other 
dance. 
Forget not Master Valiant-for-the-trutb, 
That man of courage, though a very youth. 
Tell every one his spirit was so stout, 
No man could ever make him face about ; 
And how Great-heart and he could not for- 
bear, 
But put down Doubting Castle, slay Despair. 

Overlook not Master Despondency, 
Nor Much -afraid, his daughter, though they 

lie 
Under such mantles as may make them look 
(With some) as if their God had them forsook. 
They softly went, but sure, and at the end 
Found that the Lord of pilgrims was their 
friend. 



/"\ 



3^ 



SENDING FORTH HIS SECOND PART. 



233 



■■ - - 

fmm 



When thou hast told the world of all these things, 
Then turn about, my book, and touch these strings; 
Which, if but touch' d, will such music make, 
They'll make a cripple dance, a giant quake. 

These riddles that lie couch'd within thy breast, 
Freely propound, expound ; and for the rest 
Of thy mysterious lines, let them remain 
For those whose nimble fancies shall them gain. 

Now may this little book a blessing be 
To those that love this little book and me ; 
And may its buyer have no cause to say 
His money is but lost or thrown away. 
Tea, may this second pilgrim yield that fruit, 
As may with each good pilgrim's fancy suit ; 
And may it persuade some that go astray, 
To turn their foot and heart to the right way — 



Is tf)e fjcarfj prajer of 



Efje gutfjor, 





-3 



f ojw §immut. 



E H 



/M$ 



a 



■£)} "' 

%\ il||f§K 



^ 



MY 







!(/f^ OURTEOUS companions, some 
time since, to tell yon my dream 
that I had of Christian the 



236 THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION. 

pilgrim, and of his dangerous journey towards the Celestial 
Country, was pleasant to me, and profitable to you. I told 
you then also what I saw concerning his wife and children, 
and how unwilling they were to go with him on pilgrimage : 
insomuch that he was forced to go on his progress without 
them; for he durst not run the danger of that destruction 
which he feared would come by staying with them in the City 
of Destruction: wherefore, as I then shewed you, he left 
them, and departed. 

Now it hath so happened, through the multiplicity of 
business, that I have been much hindered and kept back from 
my wonted travels into those parts whence he went, and so 
could not till now obtain an opportunity to make further 
inquiry after whom he left behind, that I might give you an 
account of them. But having had some concerns that way 
of late, I went down again thitherward. Now, having taken 
up my lodgings in a wood about a mile off the place, as I slept 
I dreamed again. 

And as I was in my dream, behold, an aged gentleman 
came hy where I lay ; and because he was to go some part of 
the way that I was travelling, methought I got up and went 
with him. So as we walked, and as travellers usually do, I 
was as if we fell into discourse, and our talk happened to 
be about Christian and his travels, for thus I began with the 
old man : 

" Sir," said I, " what town is that there below, that lieth on 
the left hand of our way ? " 

Then said Mr. Sagacity, for that was his name, " It is the 
City of Destruction, a populous place, but possessed with a 
very ill-conditioned and idle sort of people." 

"I thought that was that city," quoth I; "I went once 
myself through that town, and therefore know that this 
report you give of it is true." 

Sag. Too true ; I wish I could speak truth in speaking 
better of them that dwell therein. 

"Well, sir," quoth I; "then I perceive you to be a well- 
meaning man, and so one that takes pleasure to hear and tell 
of that which is good ; pray did you never hear what hap- 




pened to a man some time ago in this town (whose name was 
Christian), that went on pilgrimage np towards the higher 
regions ?" 

Sag. Hear of him ! ay, and I also heard of the molestations, 
troubles, wars, captivities, cries, groans, frights, and fears, that 
he met with and had in his journey. Besides, I must tell 
you, all our country rings of him ; there are but few 
houses that have heard of him and his doings, but have sought 
after and got the records of his pilgrimage ; yea, I think I 



238 REPORTS RESPECTING CHRISTIAN'S PILGRIMAGE. 

may say that that his hazardous journey has got a many well- 
wishers to his ways; for though when he was here he was 
fool in every man's mouth, yet now he is gone he is highly 
commended of all : for 'tis said he lives bravely where he is ; 
yea, many of them that are resolved never to run his hazards, 
yet have their mouths water at his gains. 

" They may," quoth I, " well think, if they think any thing 
that is true, that he liveth well where he is ; for he now lives 
at and in the fountain of life, and has what he has without 
labour and sorrow, for there is no grief mixed therewith." 

Sag. Talk ! the people talk strangely about him. Some 
say that he now walks in white, that he has a chain of gold 
about his neck, that he has a crown of gold beset with 
pearls upon his head (Rev. iii. 4 ; vi. 11) : others say that the 
shining ones that sometimes shewed themselves to him in his 
journey are become his companions, and that he is as familiar 
with them in the place where he is, as here one neighbour is 
with another (Zech. iii. 7). Besides, 'tis confidently affirmed 
concerning him, that the King of the place where he is has 
bestowed upon him already a very rich and pleasant dwelling 
at court, and that he every day eateth and drinketh, and 
walketh and talketh with Him, and receiveth of the smiles 
and favours of Him that is Judge of all there (Luke xiv. 15). 
Moreover, it is expected of some, that his Prince, the Lord of 
that country, will shortly come into these parts, and will know 
the reason, if they can give any, why his neighbours set so 
little by him, and had him so much in derision, when they 
perceived that he would be a pilgrim (Jude 14, 15). For 
they say, that now he is so in the affections of his Prince, and 
that his Sovereign is so much concerned with the indignities 
that were cast upon Christian when he became a pilgrim, 
that He will look upon all as if done unto Himself; and no 
marvel, for 'twas for the love that he had to his Prince that 
he ventured as he did (Luke x. 16). 

"I dare say," quoth I. "lam glad on it ; I am glad for 
the poor man's sake. For that now he has rest from his 
labour (Rev. xiv. 13) ; and for that he now reapeth the 
benefit of his tears with joy (Ps. cxxvi. 5, 6) ; and for that 




he has got beyond the gunshot of his enemies, and is out 
of the reach of them that hate him. I also am glad for that 
a rumour of these things is noised abroad in this country. 
Who can tell bat that it may work some good effect on some 
that are left behind ! But pray, sir, while it is fresh in my 
mind, do you hear any thing of his wife and children ? Poor 
hearts ! I wonder in my mind what they do." 

Sag. Who ? Christiana and her sons ! They are like to do 
as well as did Christian himself; for though they all played 
the fool at the first, and would by no means be persuaded by 
either the tears or entreaties of Christian, yet second thoughts 
have wrought wonderfully with them ; so they have packed 
up and are also gone after him. 

"Better and better," quoth I. "But what! Wife and 
children and all?" 

Sag. 'Tis true. I can give you an account of the matter ; 
for I was upon the spot at the instant, and was thoroughly 
acquainted with the whole affair. 



240 CHRISTIANA AND HER CHILDREN BECOME PILGRIMS. 

" Then," said I, " a man, it seems, may report it for a 
truth?" 

Sag. " You need not fear to affirm it. I mean, that they 
are all gone on pilgrimage, both the good woman and her 
four boys ; and being we are, as I perceive, going some con- 
siderable way together, I will give you an account of the 
whole of the matter. 

" This Christiana (for that was her name from the day that 
she, with her children, betook themselves to a pilgrim's life), 
after her husband was gone over the river, and she could hear 
of him no more, her thoughts began to work in her mind ; 
first, for that she had lost her husband, and for that the loving 
bond of that relation was utterly broken betwixt them ; for 
you know," said he to me, " nature can do no less but entertain 
the living with many a heavy cogitation in the remembrance 
of the loss of loving relations. This, therefore, of her 
husband did cost her many a tear. But this was not all ; for 
Christiana did also begin to consider with herself, whether 
her unbecoming behaviour towards her husband was not one 
cause that she saw him no more, and that in such sort he was 
taken away from her. And upon this came into her mind by 
swarms all her unkind, unnatural, and ungodly carriages to 
her dear friend, which also clogged her conscience, and did 
load her with guilt. She was, moreover, much broken with 
calling to remembrance the restless groans, brinish tears, and 
self-bemoanings of her husband, and how she did harden her 
heart against all his entreaties and loving persuasions (of her 
and her sons) to go with him ; yea, there was not any thing 
that Christian either said to her, or did before her, all the 
while that his burden did hang on his back, but it returned 
upon her like a flash of lightning, and rent the caul of her 
heart in sunder. Specially that bitter outcry of his, ' What 
shall I do to be saved ? ' did ring in her ears most dolefully. 

" Then said she to her children, ' Sons, we are all undone. 
I have sinned away your father, and he is gone ; he would 
have had us with him, but I would not go myself ; I also have 
hindered you of life.' With that the boys fell all into tears, 
and cried out to go after their father. ' Oh ! ' said Christiana, 



Christiana's dream. 



241 



* that it had been but our lot to go with him, then had it fared 
well with us beyond what 'tis like to do now. For though I 
formerly foolishly imagined concerning the troubles of your 
father, that they proceeded of a foolish fancy that he had, or 
for that he was overrun with melancholy humours ; yet now 
'twill not out of my mind, but that they sprang from another 
cause, to wit, for that the light of light was given him ; by 
the help of which, as I perceive, he has escaped the snares of 
death ' (James i. 23-25). Then they all wept again, and cried 
out, ' Oh, wo worth the day ! ' 

" The next night Christiana had a dream ; and behold, she 
saw as if a broad parchment was opened before her, in which 
were recorded the sum of her ways ; and the times, as she 
thought, looked very black upon her. Then she cried out 
aloud in her sleep, ' Lord, have mercy upon me, a sinner ' 
(Luke xviii. 13) : and the little children heard her. 



;l :iSi»< 



w 




1 1 



242 secret's message to Christiana. 

" After this she thought she saw two very ill-favoured ones 
standing by her bedside, and saying, ' "What shall we do with 
this woman ? for she cries out for mercy waking and sleeping. 
If she be suffered to go on as she begins, we shall lose her as 
we have lost her husband. Wherefore we must, by one way 
or other, seek t© take her off from the thoughts of what shall 
be hereafter; else all the world cannot help it but she will 
become a pilgrim.' 

" Now she awoke in a great sweat, also a trembling was 
upon her ; but after a while she fell to sleeping again. And 
then she thought she saw Christian her husband in a place 
of bliss, among many immortals, with an harp in his hand, 
standing and playing upon it before one that sate on a throne 
with a rainbow about his head. She saw also as if he bowed 
his head with his face to the paved work that was under the 
Prince's feet, saying, ' I heartily thank my Lord and King for 
bringing of me into this place.' Then shouted a company of 
them that stood round about, and harped with their harps : 
but no man living could tell what they said but Christian and 
his companions. 

" Next morning, when she was up, had prayed to God, and 
talked with her children a while, one knocked hard at the 
door ; to whom she spake out, saying, ' If thou comest in 
God's name, come in.' So he said, ' Amen,' and opened the 
door, and saluted her with, ' Peace be to this house.' The 
which when he had done, he said, ' Christiana, knowest thou 
wherefore I am come ? ' Then she blushed and trembled ; 
also her heart began to wax warm with desires to know whence 
he came, and what was his errand to her. So he said unto 
her, ' My name is Secret : I dwell with those that are high. 
It is talked of where I dwell as if thou hadst a desire to go 
thither ; also there is a report that thou art aware of the evil 
thou hast formerly done to thy husband in hardening of thy 
heart against his way, and in keeping of these thy babes in 
their ignorance. Christiana, the merciful One has sent me to tell 
thee that He is a God ready to forgive, and that He taketh 
delight to multiply pardon to offences. He also would have 
thee know that He inviteth thee to come into His presence, 



/n 




to His table, and that He will feed tliee with the fat of His 
Inrase, and with the heritage of Jacob thy father. 

" ' There is Christian, thy husband that was, with legions 
more his companions, ever beholding that face that doth 
minister life to beholders ; and they will all be glad when 
they shall hear the sound of thy feet step over thy Father's 
threshold.' 

" Christiana at this was greatly abashed in herself, and 
bowing her head to the ground, this visitor proceeded, and 
said, ' Christiana, here is also a letter for thee, which I have 
brought from thy husband's King.' So she took it and 
opened it; but it smelt after the manner of the best perfume 
(Song i. 3), also it was written in letters of gold. The 
contents of the letter was, ' That the King would have her do 



244 CHRISTIANA'S DISCOURSE TO HER CHILDREN. 

as did Christian her husband ; for that was the way to come 
to His city, and to dwell in His presence with joy for ever.' 
At this the good woman was quite overcome. So she cried 
out to her visitor, ' Sir, will you carry me and my children 
with you, that we also may go and worship this King ? ' 

" Then said the visitor, ' Christiana ! the bitter is before 
the sweet. Thou must through troubles, as did he that 
went before thee, enter this Celestial City. Wherefore I advise 
thee to do as did Christian thy husband : go to the wicket- 
gate yonder, over the plain, for that stands in the head of the 
way up which thou must go, and I wish thee all good speed. 
Also I advise that thou put this letter in thy bosom. That 
thou read therein to thyself and to thy children, until you 
have got it by root-of-heart. For it is one of the songs that 
thou must sing while thou art in this house of thy pilgrim- 
age (Psal. cxix. 54). Also this thou must deliver in at the 
farther gate.' " 

Now I saw in my dream, that this old gentleman as he told 
me this story, did himself seem to be greatly affected there- 
with. He moreover proceeded, and said, " So Christiana called 
her sons together, and began thus to address herself unto 
them. * My sons, I have, as you may perceive, been of late 
under much exercise in my soul about the death of your 
father ; not for that I doubt at all of his happiness, for I am 
satisfied now that he is well. I have also been much affected 
with the thoughts of mine own state and yours, which I verily 
believe is by nature miserable. My carriages also to your 
father in his distress is a great load to my conscience ; for I 
hardened both my own heart and yours against him, and 
refused to go with him on pilgrimage. 

" ' The thoughts of these things would now kill me out- 
right, but that for a dream which I had last night, and but 
that for the encouragement that this stranger has given me 
this morning. Come, my children, let us pack up, and be gone 
to the gate that leads to the celestial country, that we may 
see your father, and be with him and his companions in peace, 
according to the laws of that land.' 

" Then did her children burst out into tears for joy that 



THE COUNSEL OP CHRISTIANA'S NEIGHBOURS. 245 

the heart of their mother was so inclined. So their visitor 
bid them farewell ; and they began to prepare to set out for 
their journey. 

" But while they were thus about to be gone, two of the 
women that were Christiana's neighbours came up to her 
house and knocked at her door. To whom she said, as before, 
' If you come in God's name, come in.' At this the women 
were stunned, for this kind of language they used not to hear, 
or to perceive to drop from the lips of Christiana. Yet they 
came in ; but behold, they found the good woman a preparing 
to be gone from her house. 

" So they began and said, ' Neighbour, pray what is your 
meaning by this ? ' 

" Christiana answered and said to the eldest of them, whose 
name was Mrs. Timorous, ' I am preparing for a journey.' 
(This Timorous was daughter to him that met Christian upon 
the Hill Difficulty, and would a had him gone back for fear of 
the lions.) 

" Timo. For what journey, I pray you ? 

" Chris. Even to go after my good husband. — And with 
that she fell a weeping. 




246 TIMOROUS DISSUADES HER FROM THE PILGRIMAGE. 

" Timo. I hope not so, good neighbour. Pray, for your 
poor children's sakes, do not so unwomanly cast away 
yourself. 

" Chris. Nay, my children shall go with me ; not one of 
them is willing to stay behind. 

" Timo. I wonder, in my very heart, what or who has brought 
you into this mind. 

" Chris. Oh, neighbour, knew you but as much as I do, I 
doubt not but that you would go with me. 

" Timo. Prithee, what new knowledge hast thou got that 
so worketh off thy mind from thy friends, and that tempteth 
thee to go nobody knows where ? 

" Chris. Then Christiana replied, ' I have been sorely 
afflicted since my husband's departure from me ; but specially 
Since he went over the river. But that which troubleth me 
most is, my churlish carriages to him when he was under his 
distress. Besides, I am now as he was then ; nothing will 
serve me but going on pilgrimage. I was a dreaming last 
night that I saw him. Oh, that my soul was with him ! He 
dwelleth in the presence of the King of the country, he sits 
and eats with Him at His table, he is become a companion of 
immortals, and has a house now given him to dwell in, to which 
the best palaces on earth, if compared, seem to me to be but as 
a dunghill (2 Cor. v. 1-4). The Prince of the place has also 
sent for me, with promise of entertainment if I shall come to 
Him. His messenger was here even now, and has brought 
me a letter, which invites me to come.' And with that she 
plucked out her letter, and read it, and said to them, ' What 
now will you say to this ? ' 

" Timo. Oh, the madness that has possessed thee and thy 
husband, to run yourselves upon such difficulties ! You have 
heard, I am sure, what your husband did meet with, even in a 
manner at the first step that he took on his way, as our 
neighbour Obstinate can yet testify ; for he went along with 
him, yea, and Pliable too, until they, like wise men, were 
afraid to go any farther. We also heard, over and above, how 
he met with the lions, Apollyon, the Shadow of Death, and 
many other things. Nor is the danger that he met with at 



M' 




mh. 



Vanity Fair to be forgotten by thee. For if be, though a 
man, was so bard put to it, wbat canst thou, being bnt a poor 
woman, do ? Consider, also, tbat tbese fonr sweet babes are 
tby cbildren, thy flesh and tby bones. Wherefore, though 
thou shouldst be so rash as to cast away thyself, yet, for the 
sake of the fruit of thy body, keep thou at home. 

" But Christiana said unto her, ' Tempt me not, my neigh- 
bour ; I have now a price put into mine hand to get gain, and I 
should be a fool of the greatest size if I should have no heart 
to strike in with the opportunity. And for that you tell me 



248 MEECY INCLINES TO ACCOMPANY CHRISTIANA. 

of all these troubles that I am like to meet with in the way, 
they are so far off from being to me a discouragement, that 
they shew I am in the right. The bitter must come before 
the sweet, and that also will make the sweet the sweeter. 
Wherefore, since you came not to my house in Grod's name, 
as I said, I pray you to be gone, and not to disquiet me 
further.' 

"Then Timorous also reviled her, and said to her fellow, 
* Come, neighbour Mercy, let's leave her in her own hands, 
since she scorns our counsel and company.' But Mercy was 
at a stand, and could not so readily comply with her neigh- 
bour; and that for a twofold reason. First, her bowels 
yearned over Christiana ; so she said within herself, ' If my 
neighbour will needs be gone, I will go a little way with her, 
and help her.' Secondly, her bowels yearned over her own 
soul (for what Christiana had said had taken some hold upon 
her mind). Wherefore she said within herself again, ' I will 
yet have more talk with this Christiana : and if I find 
truth and life in what she shall say, myself with my heart 
shall also go with her.' Wherefore Mercy began thus to reply 
to her neighbour Timorous. 

" Mercy. Neighbour, I did indeed come with you to see 
Christiana this morning; and since she is, as you see, a 
taking of her last farewell of her country, I think to walk this 
sunshine morning a little way with her to help her on the 
way. 

" But she told her not of her second reason, but kept that 
to herself. 

" Timo. Well, I see you have a mind to go a fooling too ; 
but take heed in time, and be wise : while we are out of 
danger we are out ; but when we are in we are in. 

" So Mrs. Timorous returned to her house, and Christiana 
betook herself to her journey. But when Timorous was got 
home to her house, she sends for some of her neighbours, to 
wit, Mrs. Bat's-eyes, Mrs. Inconsiderate, Mrs. Light-mind, 
and Mrs. Know-nothing. So when they were come to her 
house, she falls to telling of the story of Christiana and of 
her intended journey. And thus she began her tale. 



THE neighbours' gossip. 249 

" TlMO. Neighbours, having had little to do this morning, I 
went to give Christiana a visit, and when I came at the door 
I knocked, as you know 'tis our custom. And she answered, 
' If you come in God's name, come in.' So in I went, 
thinking all was well; but when I came in, I found her 
preparing herself to depart the town, she and also her children. 
So I asked her what was her meaning by that ; and she told 
me, in short, that she was now of a mind to go on pilgrimage, 
as did her husband. She told me also a dream tha.t she had, 
and how the King of the country where her husband was had 
sent her an inviting letter to come thither. 

" Then said Mrs. Know-nothing, ' And what, do you think 
she will go ? ' 

" Timo. Ay, go she will, whatever come on't ; and methinks 
I know it by this, for that which was my great argument to 
persuade her to stay at home (to wit, the troubles she was 
like to meet with in the way), is one great argument with 
her to put her forward on her journey. For she told me in 
so many words, The bitter goes before the sweet. Yea, 
and for as much as it so doth, it makes the sweet the 
sweeter. 

" Mrs. Bat's-Etes. c Oh, this blind and foolish woman,' 
said she, * will she not take warning by her husband's afflic- 
tions ? For my part, I see, if he was here again, he would 




K k 



250 MEECY ACCOMPANIES CHRISTIANA. 

rest him content in a whole skin, and never run so many- 
hazards for nothing.' 

" Mrs. Inconsiderate also replied, saying, ' Away with such 
fantastical fools from the town, — a good riddance, for my 
part, I say, of her. Should she stay where she dwells, and 
retain this her mind, who could live quietly by her ? for she 
will either be dumpish or unneighbourly, or talk of such 
matters as no wise body can abide. Wherefore, for my part, 
I shall never be sorry for her departure ; let her go, and let 
better come in her room: 'twas never a good world since 
these whimsical fools dwelt in it.' 

" Then Mrs. Light-mind added as followeth : ' Come, put 
this kind of talk away. I was yesterday at Madam Wanton's, 
where we were as merry as the maids. For who do you 
think should be there, but I, and Mrs. Love-the-flesh, and 
three or four more, with Mr. Lechery, Mrs. Filth, and some 
others. So there we had music and dancing, and what else 
was meet to fill up the pleasure. And I dare say, my lady 
herself is an admirably well-bred gentlewoman, and Mr. 
Lechery is as pretty a fellow.' 

" By this time Christiana was got on her way, and Mercy 
went along with her. So as they went, her children being 
there also, Christiana began to discourse. And, ' Mercy,' 
said Christiana, ' I take this as an unexpected favour that 
thou shouldest set foot out of doors with me, to accompany 
me a little in my way.' 

" Mercy. Then said young Mercy (for she was but young), 
' If I thought it would be to purpose to go with you, I would 
never go near the town any more.' 

" Chris. ' Well, Mercy,' said Christiana, ' cast in thy lot 
with me. I well know what will be the end of our pilgrimage : 
my husband is where he would not but be for all the gold in 
the Spanish Mines. Nor shalt thou be rejected, though thou 
goest but upon my invitation. The King who hath sent for 
me and my children is one that delighteth in mercy. Besides, 
if thou wilt, I will hire thee, and thou shalt go along with 
me as my servant. Yet we will have all things in common 
betwixt thee and me, only go along with me.' 




" Mer. But how shall I be ascertained that I also shall be 
entertained ? Had I this hope but from one that can tell, I 
would make no stick at all, but would go, being helped by 
Him that can help, though the way was never so tedious. 

" Chris. Well, loving Mercy, I will tell thee what thou 
shalt do. Gro with me to the wicket-gate, and there I will 
further inquire for thee ; and if there thou shalt not meet 
with encouragement, I will be content that thou shalt return 
to thy place. I also will pay thee for thy kindness which 
thou shewest to me and my children, in thy accompanying of 
us in our way as thou doest. 

"Mer. Then will I go thither, and will take what shall 



252 THEIR DISCOURSE. 

follow ; and the Lord grant that my lot may there fall even as 
the King of heaven shall have His heart npon me. 

" Christiana then was glad at her heart, not only that she 
had a companion, but also for that she had prevailed with 
this poor maid to fall in love with her own salvation. So 
they went on together, and Mercy began to weep. Then 
said Christiana, ' Wherefore weepeth my sister so ? ' 

" Mer. ' Alas ! ' said she, ' who can but lament that shall 
but rightly consider what a state and condition my poor 
relations are in that yet remain in our sinful town ; and that 
which makes my grief the more heavy is, because they have 
no instructor, nor any to tell them what is to come.' 

" Chris. Bowels becometh pilgrims. And thou dost for 
thy friends as my good Christian did for me when he left me ; 
he mourned for that I would not heed nor regard him ; but 
his Lord and ours did gather up his tears, and put them into 
his bottle ; and now both I, and thou, and these my sweet 
babes, are reaping the fruit and benefit of them. I hope, 
Mercy, these tears of* thine will not be lost ; for the truth 
hath said, that they that sow in tears shall reap in joy, in 
singing. And he that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing 
precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, 
bringing his sheaves with him (Ps. cxxvi. 5, 6). 

" Then said Mercy, 



' Let the Most Blessed be my guide, 
If 't be His blessed will, 
Unto His gate, into His fold, 
Up to His holy hill. 

And let Him never suffer me 
To swerve, or turn aside 
From His free grace and holy ways, 
Whate'er shall me betide. 

And let Him gather them of mine 
That I have left behind. 
Lord, make them pray they may be Thiac, 
With all their heart and mind."' 



THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 



253 



Now my old friend proceeded, and said, " But when Chris- 
tiana came up to the Slough of Despond, she began to be at a 
stand : ' For,' said she, ' this is the place in which my dear 
husband had like to a been smothered with mud.' She 
perceived also, that notwithstanding the command of the 
King to make this place for pilgrims good, yet it was rather 
worse than formerly." So I asked if that was true ? "Yes," 
said the old gentleman, "too true. For that many there be 
that pretend to be the King's labourers, and that say they 
are for mending the King's highway, that bring dirt and 
dung instead of stones, and so mar instead of mending. 
Here Christiana, therefore, with her boys, did make a stand. 
But said Mercy, ' Come, let us venture, only let us be wary.' 




254 THEY AEEIVE AT THE GATE. 

Then they looked well to the steps, and made a shift to get 
staggeringly" over. . 

" Yet Christiana had like to a been in, and that not once 
nor twice. Now they had no sooner got over, but they thought 
they heard words that said unto them, ' Blesseth is she that 
believeth, for there shall be a performance of the things that 
have been told her from the Lord ' (Lnke i. 45). 

" Then they went on again. And said Mercy to Christiana, 
* Had I as good gronnd to hope for a loving reception at the 
wicket-gate as yon, I think no Slongh of Despond would 
discourage me.' 

" ' Well,' said the other, ' you know your sore, and I know 
mine ; and, good friend, we shall all have enough evil before 
we come at our journey's end. Eor can it be imagined, that 
the people that design to attain such excellent glories as we 
do, and that are so envied that happiness as we are, but 
that we shall meet with what fears and scares, with what 
troubles and afflictions, they can possibly assault us with that 
hate us ? '" 

And now Mr. Sagacity left me to dream out my dream by 
myself. Wherefore methought I saw Christiana, and Mercy, 
and the boys, go all of them up to the gate. To which when 
they were come, they betook themselves to a short debate 
about how they must manage their calling at the gate, and 
what should be said to him that did open to them. So it was 
concluded, since Christiana was the eldest, that she should 
knock for entrance, and that she should speak to him that did 
open for the rest. So Christiana began to knock ; and as her 
poor husband did, she knocked, and knocked again. But 
instead of any that answered, they all thought that they 
heard as if a dog came barking upon them. A dog, and a 
great one too ; and this made the woman and children afraid. 
Nor durst they for a while to knock any more, for fear the 
mastiff should fly upon them. Now, therefore, they were 
greatly tumbled up and down in their minds, and knew not 
what to do. Knock they durst not, for fear of the dog ; go 
back they durst not, for fear that the keeper of that gate 
should espy them as they so went, and should be offended 




with them. At last they thought of knocking again, and 
knocked more vehemently than they did at the first. Then 
said the keeper of the gate, "Who is there ?" So the dog 
left off to bark, and he opened unto them. 

Then Christiana made low obeisance, and said, " Let not 
our Lord be offended with his handmaidens for that we have 
knocked at his princely gate." 

Then said the keeper, " Whence come ye, and what is that 
ye would have?" 



256 MERCY IS LEFT AT THE GATE. 

Christiana answered, " We are come from whence Christian 
did come, and upon the same errand as he ; to wit, to be, if it 
shall please yon, graciously admitted by this gate into the way 
that leads to the Celestial City. And I answer my Lord in 
the next place, that I am Christiana, once the wife of Chris- 
tian, that now is gotten above." 

With that the keeper of the gate did marvel, saying, " What, 
is she become now a pilgrim, that but a while ago abhorred 
that life ?" Then she bowed her head, and said, "Yes ; and 
so are these my sweet babes also." 

Then he took her by the hand, and let her in, and said also, 
" Suffer the little children to come unto me;" and with that 
he shut up the gate. This done, he called to a trumpeter 
that was above over the gate, to entertain Christiana with 
shouting and sound of trumpet for joy (Luke xv. 7). So 
he obeyed and sounded, and filled the air with his melodious 
notes. 

ISTow all this while poor Mercy did stand without, trembling 
and crying for fear that she was rejected. But when Chris- 
tiana had gotten admittance for herself and her boys, then 
she began to make intercession for Mercy. 

Chris. And she said, "My Lord, I have a companion of 
mine that stands yet without, that is come hither upon the 
same account as myself: one that is much dejected in her 
mind, for that she comes, as she thinks, without sending for, 
whereas I was sent to by my husband's King to come." 

Now Mercy began to be very impatient, for each minute 
was as long to her as an hour, wherefore she prevented Chris- 
tiana from a fuller interceding for her, by knocking at the 
gate herself ; and she knocked then so loud, that she made 
Christiana to start. Then said the keeper of the gate, " Who 
is there ?" And said Christiana, " It is my friend." 

So he opened the gate, and looked out ; but Mercy was 
fallen down without in a swoon, for she fainted, and was 
afraid that no gate would be opened to her. 

Then he took her by the hand, and said, " Damsel, I bid 
thee arise." 

" Oh, sir," said she, " I am faint ; there is scarce life left in 



MERCY FALLS DOWN IN A SWOON. 



257 



me." But he answered, that " One once said, ' When my 
soul fainted within me, I remembered the Lord, and my 
prayer came in unto Thee, into Thy holy temple ' (Jonah ii. 7). 
Fear not, but stand upon thy feet, and tell me wherefore thou 
art come." 

Mer. I am come for that unto which I was never invited, 
as my friend Christiana was. Hers was from the King, and 
mine was but from her ; wherefore I fear I presume. 

" Did she desire thee to come with her to this place ? " 

Mer. Yes ; and, as my Lord sees, I am come. And if there 
is any grace or forgiveness of sins to spare, I beseech that I, 
thy poor handmaid, may be partaker thereof. 

Then he took her again by the hand, and led her gently in, 
and said, " I pray for all them that believe on me, by what 
means soever they come unto me." Then said he to those 
that stood by, " Fetch something, and give it Mercy to smell 
on, thereby to stay her fainting." So they fetched her a 
bundle of myrrh, and a while after she was revived. 

And now was Christiana and her boys, and Mercy, received 
of the Lord at the head of the way, and spoke kindly unto by 
him. 

Then said they yet further unto him, " We are sorry for our 
sins, and beg of our Lord his pardon, and further information 
what we must do." 

"I grant pardon," said he, "by word and deed: by word, 
in the promise of forgiveness ; by deed in the way I obtained 




L L 




258 THE PILGRIMS CONVERSE TOGETHER. 

it. Take the first from my lips with 
a kiss, and the other as it shall be 
revealed " (Song i. 2 ; John xx. 20). 

Now I saw in my dream that he 

spake many good words unto them, 

whereby they were greatly gladed. He 

also had them up to the top of the 

gate, and shewed them by what deed 

they were saved ; and told them withal, 

that that sight they would have again 

as they went along in the way, to their 

comfort. 

So he left them awhile in the summer parlour below, where 

they entered into talk by themselves. And thus Christiana 

began, " Lord ! how glad am I that we are got in hither ! " 

Mer. So you well may ; but I, of all, have cause to leap 

for joy. 

Chris. I thought one time^ as I stood at the gate (because 
I had knocked, and none did answer), that all our labour had 
been lost ; specially when that ugly cur made such a heavy 
barking against us. 

Mer. But my worse fears was after I saw that you was 
taken into his favour, and that I was left behind. Now 
thought I, 'tis fulfilled which is written, " Two women shall 
be grinding together ; the one shall be taken, and the other 
left" (Matt. xxiv. 41). I had much ado to forbear crying 
out, Undone, undone ! And afraid I was to knock any more ; 
but when I looked up to what was written over the gate, I 
took courage. I also thought that I must either knock again, 
or die. So I knocked ; but I cannot tell how, for my spirit 
now struggled betwixt life and death. 

Chris. Can you not tell how you knocked ? I am sure 
your knocks were so earnest, that the very sound of them 
made me start ; I thought I never heard such knocking in all 
my life. I thought you would a come in by violent hands, or 
a took the kingdom by storm (Matt. xi. 12). 

Mer. Alas, to be in my case, who that so was could but a 
done so ? You saw that the door was shut upon me, and that 




there was a most cruel dog thereabout. "Who, I say, that was 
so faint-hearted as I, that would not a knocked with all their 
might ? But pray, what said my Lord to my rudeness ? Was 
he not angry with me ? 

Chris. "When he heard your lumbering noise, he gave a 
wonderful innocent smile. I believe what you did pleased 
him well enough, for he showed no sign to the contrary. But 
I marvel in my heart why he keeps such a dog. Had I 
known that afore, I fear I should not have had heart enough 
to a ventured myself in this manner. But now we are in, we 
are in, and I am glad with all my heart. 



260 MERCY INQUIRES RESPECTING THE DOG. 

Mer. I will ask, if you please, next time he comes down, 
why he keeps such a filthy cur in his yard. I hope he will 
not take it amiss. 

"Ay, do," said the children; "and persuade him to hang 
him, for we are afraid he will bite us when we go hence." 

So at last he came down to them again ; and Mercy fell to 
the ground on her face before him, and worshipped, and said, 
" Let my Lord accept of the sacrifice of praise which I now 
offer unto him with the calves of my lips." 

So he said unto her, " Peace be to thee : stand up." 

But she continued upon her face, and said, " Righteous art 
thou, Lord, when I plead with thee ; yet let me talk with 
thee of thy judgments (Jer. xii. 1, 2) : wherefore dost thou 
keep so cruel a dog in thy yard, at the sight of which such 
women and children as we are ready to fly from thy gate for 
fear?" 

He answered, and said, " That dog has another owner ; he 
also is kept close in another man's ground, only my pilgrims 
hear his barking. He belongs to the castle which you see 
there at a distance, but can come up to the walls of this place. 
He has frighted many an honest pilgrim from worse to better 
by the great voice of his roaring. Indeed, he that owneth 
him doth not keep him of any good will to me or mine, but 
with intent to keep the pilgrims from coming to me, and that 
they may be afraid to knock at this gate for entrance. Some- 
times also he has broken out, and has worried some that I 
love, but I take all at present patiently. I also give my pil- 
grims timely help, so they are not delivered up to his power, 
to do to them what his dogish nature would prompt him., to. 
But what ! My purchased one, I trow, hadst thou known 
never so much beforehand, thou wouldst not a been afraid of 
a dog. The beggars that go from door to door will, rather 
than they will lose a supposed alms, run the hazard of the 
bawling, barking, and biting too, of a dog ; and shall a dog, 
a dog in another man's yard, a dog whose barking I turn to 
the profit of pilgrims, keep any from coming to me ? I 
deliver them from the lions, their darling from the power of 
the dog." 



THE PILGRIMS GO ON THEIR WAY REJOICING. 



261 



Mer. Then said Mercy, "I 
confess my ignorance ; I spake 
what I nnderstood not; I ac- 
knowledge that thou doest all 
things well." 

Then Christiana began to talk 
of their journey, and to inquire 
after the way. So he fed them, 
and washed their feet, and set 
them in the way of his steps, 
according as he had dealt with 
her husband before. 

So I saw in my dream that 
they walked on in their way, 
and had the weather very com- 
fortable to them. 

Then Christiana began to sing, 
saying, 

' ' Bless'd be the day that I began 
A pilgrim for to be ; 
And blessed also be that man 
That thereto moved me. 

'Tis true, 'twas long ere I began 
To seek to live for ever ; 

But now I run fast as I can, — 
'Tis better late, than never. 

Our tears to joy, our fears to faith, 

Are turned, as we see : 
Thus our beginning (as one saith) 

Shews what our end will be." 




ISTow there was on the other side of the wall that fenced in 
the way up which Christiana and her companions was to go, 
a garden ; and that garden belonged to him whose was that 
barking dog of whom mention was made before. And some 
of the fruit-trees that grew in that garden shot their branches 



262 THET MEET TWO ILL-FAVOURED ONES. 

over the wall ; and, being mellow, they that found them did 
gather them up, and oft eat of them to their hurt. So Chris- 
tiana's boys, as boys are apt to do, being pleased with the 
trees, and with the fruit that did hang thereon, did plash 
them, and began to eat. Their mother did also chide them 
for so doing ; but still the boys went on. 

" Well," said she, " my sons, you transgress, for that fruit 
is none of ours." But she did not know that they did belong 
to the enemy ; I'll warrant you if she had, she would a been 
ready to die for fear. But that passed, and they went on 
their way. Now by that they were gone about two bows'-shot 
from the place that let them into the way, they espied two 
very ill-favoured ones coming down apace to meet them. 
With that Christiana, and Mercy her friend, covered them- 
selves with their veils, and so kept on their journey. The 
children also went on before, so that at last they met together. 
Then they that came down to meet them came just up to the 
women as if they would embrace them ; but Christiana said, 
" Stand back, or go peaceably by, as you should." Yet these 
two, as men that are deaf, regarded not Christiana's words, 
but began to lay hands upon them. At that Christiana, wax- 
ing very wroth, spurned at them with her feet. Mercy also, 
as well as she could, did what she could to shift them. Chris- 
tiana again said to them, " Stand back, and be gone ; for we 
have no money to lose, being pilgrims, as ye see, and such too 
as live upon the charity of our friends." 

Ill-Fa. Then said one of the two f the men, " We make 
no assault upon you for money, but are come out to tell you 
that if you will but grant one small request which we shall 
ask, we will make women of you for ever." 

Chris. Now Christiana, imagining what they should mean, 
made answer again, " We will neither hear, nor regard, nor 
yield to what you shall ask. We are in haste, — cannot stay ; 
our business is a business of life and death." So again, she 
and her companions made a fresh essay to go past them ; but 
they letted them in their way. 

Ill-Fa. And they said, " We intend no hurt to your lives ; 
'tis another thing we would have. 



A RELIEVER COMES TO THEIR RESCUE. 263 

Chris. "Ay," quoth Christiana, "you would have us body 
and soul, for I know 'tis for that you are come ; but we will 
die rather upon the spot than suffer ourselves to be brought 
into such snares as shall hazard our well-being hereafter." 
And with that they both shrieked out, and cried, "Murder, 
murder ! " and so put themselves under those laws that are 
provided for the protection of women (Deut. xxii. 23, 26, 27). 
But the men still made their approach upon them, with design 
to prevail against them ; they therefore cried out again. 

Now they being, as I said, not far from the gate in at which 
they came, their voice was heard from where they was, thither; 
wherefore some of the house came out, and knowing that it 
was Christiana's tongue, they made haste to her relief ; but 
by that they was got within sight of them, the women was in 
a very great scuffle, the children also stood crying by. Then 
did he that came in for then- relief call out to the ruffians, 
saying, " What is that thing that you do ? Would you make 
my Lord's people to transgress ? " He also attempted to 
take them, but they did make their escape over the wall into 
the garden of the man to whom the great dog belonged ; so 
the dog became their protector. This Reliever then came up 
to the women, and asked them how they did. So they an- 
swered, "We thank thy Prince, pretty well, only we have 
been somewhat affrighted ; we thank thee also for that thou 
earnest in to our help, for otherwise we had been overcome." 

Rel. So after a few more words, this Reliever said as fol- 
loweth : "I marvelled much when you was entertained at the 
gate above, being ye knew that ye were but weak women, 
that you petitioned not the Lord there for a conductor. Then 
might you have avoided these troubles and dangers, for he 
would have granted you one." 

Chris. " Alas," said Christiana, " we were so taken with our 
present blessing, that dangers to come were forgotten by us ; 
besides, who could have thought that so near the King's palace 
there should have lurked such naughty ones ? Indeed, it had 
been well for us had we asked our Lord for one ; but since 
our Lord knew 'twould be for our profit, I wonder he sent not 
one along with us." 



264 THEY SHOULD HAYE ASKED FOE A CONDUCTOR. 

Rel. It is not always necessary to grant things not asked 
for, lest by so doing they become of little esteem ; but when 
the want of a thing is felt, it then comes under, in the eyes of 
him that feels it, that estimate that properly is its due, and so 
consequently will be thereafter used. Had my Lord granted 
you a conductor, you would not neither so have bewailed that 
oversight of yours in not asking for one as now you have 
occasion to do. So all things work for good, and tend to make 
you more wary. 

Chris. Shall we go back again to my Lord, and confess our 
folly, and ask one ? 

Rel. Your confession of your folly I will present him with ; 
to go back again, you need not. For in all places where you 
shall come, you will find no want at all, for in every of my 
Lord's lodgings which he has prepared for the reception of his 




THEY DRAW NEAR TO INTERPRETER'S HOUSE. 265 

pilgrims, there is sufficient to furnish them against all attempts 
whatsoever. But, as I said, he will be inquired of by them 
to do it for them (Ezek. xxxvi. 37) ; and 'tis a poor thing that 
is not worth asking for. 

When he had thus said, he went back to his place, and the 
pilgrims went on their way. 

Mer. Then said Mercy, " What a sudden blank is here ! I 
made account we had now been past all danger, and that we 
should never see sorrow more." 

Chris. " Thy innocency, my sister," said Christiana to 
Mercy, " may excuse thee much ; but as for me, my fault is so 
much the greater, for that I saw this danger before I came 
out of the doors, and yet did not provide for it, where 
provision might a been had. I am, therefore, much to be 
blamed." 

Mer. Then said Mercy, "How knew you this before you 
came from home ? Pray open to me this riddle." 

Chris. Why, I will tell you. Before I set foot out of 
doors, one night, as I lay in my bed, I had a dream about 
this ; for methought I saw two men, as like these as ever the 
world they could look, stand at my bed's-feet, plotting how 
they might prevent my salvation. I will tell you their very 
words. They said ('twas when I was in my troubles), 
" What shall we do with this woman ? for she cries out, 
waking and sleeping, for forgiveness. If she be suffered to 
go on as she begins, we shall lose her as we have lost her 
husband." This, you know, might a made me take heed, and 
have provided when provision might a been had. 

Mer. " Well," said Mercy, "as by this neglect we have an 
occasion ministered unto us to behold our own imperfections, 
so our Lord has taken occasion thereby to make manifest the 
riches of his grace. For he, as we see, has followed us with 
unasked kindness, and has delivered us from their hands that 
were stronger than we of his mere good pleasure." 

Thus now, when they had talked away a little more time, 
they drew nigh to an house which stood in the way, which 
house was built for the relief of pilgrims, as you will find 

M M 



266 



THE DOOR IS OPENED TO THEM. 



more fully related in the first part of these records of the 
Pilgrim's Progress. So they drew on towards the house (the 
house of the Interpreter), and when they came to the door 
they heard a great talk in the house. They then gave ear, 
and heard, as they thought, Christiana mentioned by name ; 
for you must know that there went along, even before her, a 
talk of her and her children's going on pilgrimage ; and this 
thing was the more pleasing to them, because they had heard 
that she was Christian's wife — that woman who was some 
time ago so unwilling to hear of going on pilgrimage. Thus, 
therefore, they stood still, and heard the good people within 
commending her who, they little thought, stood at the door. 
At last Christiana knocked, as she had done at the gate before. 
Now when she had knocked, there came to the door a young 
damsel named Innocent, and opened the door, and looked, and 
behold two women was there. 

Dams. Then said the damsel to them, " With whom would 
you speak in this place ? 

Chris. Christiana answered, " We understand that this is a 
privileged place for those that are become pilgrims, and we 
now at this door are such ; wherefore, we pray that we may 
be partakers of that for which we 
at this time are come ; for the day, 
as thou seest, is very far spent, and 
we are loath to-night to go any 
farther." 

Dams. Pray what may I call 
your name, that I may tell it to 
my Lord within ? 

Chris. My name is Christiana; 
I was the wife of that pilgrim that 
some years ago did travel this way, 
and these be his four children. 
This maiden also is my companion, 
and is going on pilgrimage too. 

Inno. Then ran Innocent in (for 
that was her name), and said to 




CHRISTIANA DISCOVEES HERSELF. 267 

those within, " Can yon think who is at the door ? There is 
Christiana and her children, and her companion, all waiting 
for entertainment here." 

Then they leaped for joy, and went and told their master. 
So he came to the door, and looking npon her, he said, " Art 
thon that Christiana whom Christian, the good man, left 
behind him when he betook himself to a pilgrim's life ?" 

Chris. I am that woman that was so hard-hearted as to 
slight my hnsband's troubles, and that left him to go on in 
his journey alone, and these are his four children ; but now 
I also am come, for I am convinced that no way is right 
but this. 

Inter. Then is fulfilled that which also is written of the 
man that said to his son, " Go, work to-day in my vine- 
yard," and he said to his father, " I will not," but afterwards 
repented, and went (Matt. xxi. 29). 

Chris. Then said Christiana, "So be it : Amen. God 
make it a true saying upon me, and grant that I may be 
found at the last of Him in peace without spot and 
blameless." 

Inter. " But why standest thou thus at the door ? Come 
in, thou daughter of Abraham ; we was talking of thee but 
now, for tidings have come to us before how thou art become 
a pilgrim. Come, children, come in ; come, maiden, come 
in." So he had them all into the house. 

So when they were within they were bidden sit down and 
rest them ; the which when they had done, those that attended 
upon the pilgrims in the house came into the room to see 
them. And one smiled, and another smiled, and they all 
smiled for joy that Christiana was become a pilgrim. They 
also looked upon the boys ; they stroked them over the faces 
with the hand in token of their kind reception of them ; they 
also carried it lovingly to Mercy, and bid them all welcome 
into their master's house. 

After a while, because supper was not ready, the Inter- 
preter took them into his significant rooms, and shewed them 
what Christian, Christiana's husband, had seen some time 
before. Here, therefore they saw the man in the cage, the man 




and his dream, the man that cut his way through his enemies, 
and the picture of the biggest of them all, together with the 
rest of those things that were then so profitable to Christian. 
This done, and after these things had been somewhat 
digested by Christiana and her company, the Interpreter takes 
them apart again, and has them first into a room where was a 
man that could look no way but downwards, with a muck- 
rake in his hand. There stood also one over his head with a 
celestial crown in his hand, and proffered to give him that 
crown for his muck-rake ; but the man did neither look up 
nor regard, but raked to himself the straws, the small sticks, 
and dust of the floor. 



THE MAN WITH THE MUCK-RAKE. 269 

Then said Christiana, " I persuade myself that I know 
somewhat the meaning of this, for this is a figure of a man 
of this world. Is it not, good sir ? " 

Inter. " Thou hast said the right," said he, " and his muck- 
rake doth show his carnal mind. And whereas thou seest 
him rather give heed to rake up straws and sticks and the dust 
of the floor, than to what He says that calls to him from 
above with the celestial crown in his hand, it is to shew that 
heaven is but as a fable to some, and that things here are 
counted the only things substantial. ISTow, whereas it was 
also shewed thee that the man could look no way but down- 
wards, it is to let thee know that earthly things, when they 
are with power upon men's minds, quite carry their hearts 
away from God." 

Chris. Then said Christiana, " Oh, deliver me from this 
muck-rake !" 

Inter. "That prayer," said the Interpreter, "has lain by 
till 'tis almost rusty. ' Give me not riches ' (Prov. xxx. 8), 
is scarce the prayer of one of ten thousand. Straws, and 
sticks, and dust with most are the great things now looked 
after." 

With that Mercy and Christiana wept, and said, "It is, 
alas ! too true." 

When the Interpreter had shewed them this, he has them 
into the very best room in the house (a very brave room it 
was) ; so he bid them look round about, and see if they could 
find any thing profitable there. Then they looked round and 
round ; for there was nothing there to be seen but a very great 
spider on the wall, and that they overlooked. 

Mer. Then said Mercy, " Sir, I see nothing." But Chris- 
tiana held her peace. 

Inter. But said the Interpreter, " Look again." She there- 
fore looked again, and said, " Here is not any thing but an ugly 
spider, who hangs by her hands upon the wall." Then said 
he, "Is there but one spider in all this spacious room?" 
Then the water stood in Christiana's eyes, for she was a 
woman quick of apprehension, and she said, " Yes, Lord, 
there is here mgre than one ; yea, and spiders whose venom is 



270 



THE SPIDEE ON THE WALL. 



far more destructive than that which is in her." The Inter- 
preter then looked pleasantly upon her, and said, " Thou hast 
said the truth." This made Mercy blush, and the boys to 
cover their faces ; for they all began now to understand the 
riddle. 

Then said the Interpreter again, " ' The spider taketh hold 
with her hands,' as you see, ' and is in king's palaces ' (Prov. 
xxx. 28). And wherefore is this recorded, but to shew you, 
that how full of the venom of sin soever you be, yet you 
may, by the hand of faith, lay hold of and dwell in the best 
room that belongs to the King's house above ?" 

Chris. " I thought," said Christiana, " of something of this, 
but I could not imao-ine it all. I thought that we were like 
spiders, and that we looked like ugly creatures, in what fine 
room soever we were ; but that by this spider, this venomous 
and ill-favoured creature, we were to learn how to act faith, 
that came not into my mind. And yet she has taken hold 
with her hands, as I see, and dwells in the best room in the 
house. God has made nothing in vain." 




THE HEN AND CHICKENS. 271 

Then they seemed all to be glad, but the water stood in 
their eyes. Yet they looked one upon another, and also 
bowed before the Interpreter. 

He had them then into another room where was a hen 
and chickens, and bid them observe a while. So one of the 
chickens went to the trough to drink, and every time she 
drank she lift up her head and her eyes towards heaven. 
" See," said he, "what this little chick doth, and learn of her 
to acknowledge whence your mercies come, by receiving them 
with looking np. Yet again," said he, " observe and look." 
So they gave heed, and perceived that the hen did walk in a 
fourfold method towards her chickens. 1. She had a common 
call, and that she hath all day long. 2. She had a special 
call, and that she had but sometimes. 3. She had a brood- 
ing note. And, 4, She had an outcry (Matt, xxiii. 37). 

Inter. " Now," said he, " compare this hen to your King, 
and these chickens to His obedient ones. For, answerable to 
her, Himself has His methods, which He walketh in towards 
His people. By His common call, He gives nothing ; by His 
special call, He always has something to give ; He has also a 
brooding voice for them that are under His wing ; and He 
has an outcry, to give the alarm when He seeth the enemy 
come. I choose, my darlings, to lead you into the room 
where such things are, because you are women, and they are 
easy for you." 

Chris. " And, sir," said Christiana, " pray let us see some 
more." 

So he had them into the slaughter-house, where was a 
butcher a killing of a sheep. And behold, the sheep was quiet, 
and took her death patiently. Then said the Interpreter, 
" You must learn of this sheep to suffer, and to put up wrongs 
without murmurings and complaints. Behold how quietly 
she takes her death ; and, without objecting, she suffer eth her 
skin to be pulled over her ears. Your King doth call you 
His sheep." 

After this, he led them into his garden, where was great 
variety of flowers. And he said, "Do you see all these?" 
So Christiana said, " Yes." Then said he again, " Behold the 




flowers are divers in stature, in quality, and colour, and smell 
and virtue, and some are better than some. Also where the 
gardener has set them, there they stand, and quarrel not one 
with another." 

Again, he had them into his field, which he had sowed 
with wheat and corn ; but when they beheld, the tops of all 
was cut off, only the straw remained. He said again, " This 
ground was dunged, and ploughed, and sowed ; but what shall 
we do with the crop ? " Then said Christiana, " Burn some, 
and make muck of the rest." Then said the Interpreter 
again, " Fruit, you see, is that thing you look for, and for 
want of that you condemn it to the fire, and to be trodden 
under foot of men. Beware that in this you condemn not 
yourselves." 

Then, as they were coming in from abroad, they espied a 
little robin with a great spider in his mouth. So the Inter- 



interpreter's further instructions. 273 

preter said, " Look here." So they looked, and Mercy 
wondered. But Christiana said, " What a disparagement is it 
to such a little pretty bird as the robin-redbreast is ; he being 
also a bird above many, that loveth to maintain a kind of 
sociableness with man ! I had thought that they lived 
upon crumbs of bread, or upon other such harmless matter. 
I like him worse than I did." 

The Interpreter then replied, " This robin is an emblem 
very apt to set forth some professors by ; for to sight they are 
as this robin, pretty of note, colour, and carriage ; they seem 
also to have a very great love for professors that are sincere ; 
and above all other, to desire to sociate with and to be in 
their company, as if they could live upon the good man's 
crumbs. They pretend also, that therefore it is that they 
frequent the house of the godly, and the appointments of the 
Lord ; but when they are by themselves as the robin, they can 
catch and gobble up spiders, they can change their diet, drink 
iniquity, and swallow down sin like water." 

So when they were come again into the house, because 
supper as yet was not ready, Christiana again desired that 
the Interpreter would either shew or tell of some other things 
that are profitable. 

Then the Interpreter began, and said, " The fatter the sow 
is, the more she desires the mire ; the fatter the ox is, the 
more gamesomely he goes to the slaughter; and the more 
healthy the lusty man is, the more prone he is unto evil. 

" There is a desire in women to go neat and fine ; and it is 
a comely thing to be adorned with that that in God's sight is 
of great price. 

" 'Tis easier watching a night or two, than to sit up a 
whole year together : so 'tis easier for one to begin to profess 
well, than to hold out as he should to the end. 

"Every ship-master, when in a storm, will willingly cast 
that overboard that is of the smallest value in the vessel. But 
who will throw the best out first? none but he that feareth 
not Grod. 

" One leak will sink a ship ; and one sin will destroy a 
sinner. 

N N 



274 THE KOTTEN TEEE. 

" He that forgets his friend, is ungrateful unto Mm ; but he 
that forgets his Saviour, is unmerciful to himself. 

" He that lives in sin, and looks for happiness hereafter, is 
like him that soweth cockle, and thinks to fill his barn with 
wheat or barley. 

" If a man would live well, let him fetch hi last day to 
him, and make it always his company-keeper. 

"Whispering, and change of thoughts, proves that sin is 
in the world. 

" If the world, which Grod sets light by, is counted a thing 
of that worth with men ; what is heaven, which Grod com- 
mendeth ? 

" If the life that is attended with so many troubles is so 
loath to be let go by us, what is the life above ? 

" Every body will cry up the goodness of men ; but who is 

there that is, as he should, affected with the goodness of Grod ? 

" We seldom sit down to meat but we eat, and leave ; so 

there is in Jesus Christ more merit and righteousness than 

the whole world has need of." 

When the Interpreter had done, he takes them out into 
his garden again, and had them to a tree, whose inside was all 
rotten and gone, and yet it grew and had leaves. Then said 
Mercy, "What means this?" "This tree," said he, "whose 
outside is fair, and whose inside is rotten, it is to which many 
may be compared that are in the garden of Grod ; who, with 
their mouths, speak high in behalf of Grod, but indeed will 
do nothing for Him ; whose leaves are fair, but their heart 
good for nothing but to be tinder for the devil's tinder-box." 

Now supper was ready, the table spread, and all things s-et 
on the board. So they sate down, and did eat, when one had 
given thanks. And the Interpreter did usually entertain 
those that lodged with him with music at meals, so the 
minstrels played. There was also one that did sing ; and a 
very fine voice he had. 
His song was this : 

( ' The Lord is only my support, 
And He that doth me feed ; 
How can I, then, want any thing 

Whereof I stand in need ?" # 



CHRISTIANA RELATES HER EXPERIENCES. 



275 



When the song 
and music was 
ended, the In- 
terpreter asked 
Christiana what 
it was that at 
first did move her 
to betake herself 
to a pilgrim's 
life? 

Christiana answered, " First, 
the loss of my husband came 
into my mind, at which I was 
heartily grieved ; but all that 
was but natural affection. Then, 
after that, came the troubles and 
pilgrimage of my husband's into 
my mind, and also how like a 
churl I had carried it to him as 
to that. So guilt took hold of 
my mind, and would have drawn 

me into the pond, but that opportunely I had a dream of the 
well-being of my husband, and a letter sent me by the Kiug 
of that country where my husband dwells, to come to him. 
The dream and the letter together so wrought upon my mind, 
that they forced me to this way." 

Inter. But met you with no opposition afore you set out of 
doors ? 

Chris. Yes-; a neighbour of mine, one Mrs. Timorous (she 
was akin to him that would have persuaded my husband to 
go back for fear of the lions). She all- to-befooled me for, 
as she called it, my intended desperate adventure. She also 
urged what she could to dishearten me to it, — the hardship 
and troubles that my husband met with in the way ; but all 
this I got over pretty well. But a dream that I had, of two 
ill-lookt ones, that I thought did plot how to make me mis- 
carry in my journey, that hath troubled me much ; yea, it still 
runs in my mind, and makes me afraid of every one that I 





meet, lest they should meet me to do me a mischief, and to 
turn me ont of the way. Yea, I may tell my Lord, though I 
would not have every body know it, that between this and 
the gate by which we got into the way, we were both so sorely 
assaulted, that we were made to cry out murder ; and the 
two that made this assault upon us were like the two that 
I saw in my dream. 

Inter. Then said the Interpreter, " Thy beginning is good ; 
thy latter end shall greatly increase." So he addressed 
himself to Mercy, and said unto her, " And what moved thee 
to come hither, sweetheart ?" 

Then Mercy blushed and trembled, and for a while con- 
tinued silent. 



mercy's experiences. 277 

Inter. Then said he, " Be not afraid ; only believe, and 
speak thy mind." 

Mer. So she began, and said, " Truly, sir, my want of 
experience is that that makes me covet to be in silence, and 
that also that fills me with fears of coming short at last. I 
cannot tell of visions and dreams as my friend Christiana can ; 
nor know I what it is to mourn for my refusing of the council 
of those that were good relations." 

Inter. What was it, then, dearheart, that hath prevailed 
with thee to do as thou hast done ? 

Mer. Why, when our friend here was packing up to be 
gone from our town, I and another went accidentally to see 
her ; so we knocked at the door, and went in. When we 
Avere within, and seeing what she was doing, we asked what 
was her meaning. She said she was sent for* to go to her 
husband ; and then she up and told us how she had seen him 
in a dream, dwelling in a curious place among immortals, 
wearing a crown, playing upon a harp, eating and drinking at 
his Prince's table, and singing praises to him for bringing 
him thither, &c. Now methought, while she was telling 
these things unto us, my heart burned within me, and I said 
in my heart, if this be true, I will leave my father and my 
mother, and the land of my nativity, and will, if I may, go 
along with Christiana. 

So I asked her further of the truth of these things, and if 
she would let me go with her ; for I saw now that there was 
no dwelling, but with the danger of ruin, any longer in our 
town. But yet I came away with a heavy heart ; not for 
that I was unwilling to come away, but for that so many of 
my relations were left behind. And I am come with all the 
desire of my heart, and will go, if I may, with Christiana 
unto her husband and his King. 

Inter. Thy setting out is good, for thou hast given credit 
to the truth. Thou art a Ruth, who did, for the love that she 
bore to Naomi, and to the Lord her Grod, leave father and 
mother, and the land of her nativity, to come out, and go with 
a people that she knew not heretofore. " The Lord recom- 
pense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the Lord 



278 THE SEAL AND THE WHITE EAIMENT. 

Grod of Israel, under whose wings thou, art come to trust " 
(Ruth ii. 11, 12). 

Now supper was ended, and preparations was made for bed ; 
the women were laid singly alone, and the boys by them- 
selves. Now when Mercy was in bed, she could not sleep for 
joy, for that now her doubts of missing at last were removed 
farther from her than ever they were before ; so she lay 
blessing and praising Grod, who had had such favour for her. 

In the morning they arose with the sun, and prepared 
themselves for their departure; but the Interpreter would 
have them tarry a while, " For," said he, " you must orderly 
go from hence." Then said he to the damsel that at first 
opened unto them, " Take them, and have them into the 
garden to the bath, and there wash them, and make them 
clean from the soil which they have gathered by travelling." 
Then Innocent, the damsel, took them, and had them into 
the garden, and brought them to the bath ; so she told them 
that there they must wash and be clean, for so her master 
would have the women to do that called at his house as they 
were going on pilgrimage. They then went in and washed, 
yea, they and the boys and all, and they came out of that bath, 
not only sweet and clean, but also much enlivened and 
strengthened in their joints ; so when they came in, they 
looked fairer a deal than when they went out to the washing. 

When they were returned out of the garden from the bath, 
the Interpreter took them, and looked upon them, and said 
unto them, "Fair as the moon." Then he called for the seal 
wherewith they used to be sealed that were washed in his 
bath. So the seal was brought, and he set his mark upon 
them, that they might be known in the places whither they 
were yet to go. Now the seal was the contents and sum of 
the Passover which the children of Israel did eat when they 
came out from the land of Egypt (Exod. xiii. 8-10), and the 
mark was set between their eyes. This seal greatly added to 
their beauty, for it was an ornament to their faces ; it also 
added to their gravity, and made their countenances more 
like them of angels. 

Then said the Interpreter again to the damsel that waited 







upon these women, " Gro into the vestry, and fetch out gar- 
ments for these people;" so she went, and fetched out white 
raiment, and laid it down before him ; so he commanded them 
to put it on. " It was fine linen, white and clean." When 




the women were thus 
adorned, they seemed to 
be a terror one to the 
other, for that they could 
not see that glory each 
one on herself which they 
could see in each other. 
Now, therefore, they be- 
gan to esteem each other 

better than themselves ; " For you are fairer than I am," said 
one ; "And you are more comely than I am," said another. 
The children also stood amazed to see into what fashion they 
were brought. 

The Interpreter then called for a man-servant of his, one 
Great-heart, and bid him take sword, and helmet, and shield. 
" And take these my daughters," said he, " and conduct them 
to the house called Beautiful, at which place they will rest 
next." So he took his weapons, and went before them, and 
the Interpreter said, " God speed." Those also that belonged 
to the family sent them away with many a good wish ; so 
they went on their way, and sung — 



This place has "been our second stage ; 

Here we have heard and seen 
Those good things that, from age to age, 

To others hid have been. 



GREAT-HEART BECOMES THEIR GUIDE. 281 

The Dunghill-raker, Spider, Hen. 

The Chicken, too, to me 
Hath taught a lesson, let me then 

Conformed to it he. 
The Butcher, Garden, and the Field, 

The Robin, and his bait, 
Also the Rotten Tree, doth yield 

Me argument of weight, 
To move me for to watch and pray, 

To strive to be sincere, 
To take my cross up day by day, 

And serve the Lord with fear. 1 ' 

Now I saw in my dream, that they went on, and Great- 
heart went before them ; so they went and came to the place 
where Christian's bnrden fell off his hack and tumbled into a 
sepulchre. Here, then, they made a pause, and here also they 
blessed God. "Now," said Christiana, " it comes to my mind 
what was said to us at the gate, to wit, that we should have 
pardon by word and deed : by word, that is, by the promise ; 
by deed, to wit, in the way it was obtained. What the 
promise is, of that I know something ; but what is to have 
pardon by deed, or in the way that it was obtained ? Mr. 
Great-heart, I suppose you know ; wherefore, if you please, 
let us hear you discourse thereof." 

Great-heart. Pardon by the deed done is pardon obtained 
by some one for another that hath need thereof; not by the 
person pardoned, but in the way, saith another, in which I 
have obtained it. So, then, to speak to the question more 
large, the pardon that you and Mercy and these boys have 
attained was obtained by another, to wit, by Him that let you 
in at the gate : and He hath obtained it in this double way — 
He has performed righteousness to cover you, and spilt blood 
to wash you in. 

Chris. But if He parts with His righteousness to us, what 
will He have for Himself? 

Great-heart. He has more righteousness than you have 
need of, or than He needeth Himself. 

Chris. Pray make that appear. 

Great-heart. With all my heart ; but first I must premise 

o o 




that He of whom we are now about to speak is one that has 
not His fellow. He has two natures in one person, — plain to 
be distinguished, impossible to be divided. Unto each of 
these natures a righteousness belongeth, and each righteous- 



how Christ's righteousness becomes ours. 283 

ness is essential to that nature. So that one may as easily 
cause the nature to be extinct, as to separate its justice or 
righteousness from it. Of these righteousnesses, therefore, we 
are not made partakers so as that they, or any of them, should 
be put upon us that we might be made just, and live thereby. 
Besides these there is a righteousness which this Person has, 
as these two natures are joined in one. And this is not the 
righteousness of the Godhead as distinguished from the 
Manhood, nor the righteousness of the Manhood as dis- 
tinguished from the Godhead ; but a righteousness which 
standeth in the union of both natures, and may properly be 
called the righteousness that is essential to His being pre- 
pared of God to the capacity of the mediatory office which 
He was to be entrusted with. If He parts with His first 
righteousness, He parts with His Godhead ; if He parts with 
His second righteousness, He parts with the purity of His 
Manhood ; if He parts with this third, He parts with that 
perfection that capacitates Him to the office of mediation. 
He has, therefore, another righteousness which standeth in 
performance, or obedience to a revealed will : and that is 
it that He puts upon sinners, and that by which their sins 
are covered. Wherefore He saith, "As by one man's dis- 
obedience many were made sinners, so oy the obedience of 
One shall many be made righteous" (Rom. v. 19). 

Chris. But are the other righteousnesses of no use to us ? 

Great-heart. Yes ; for though they are essential to His 
natures and office, and so cannot be communicated unto 
another, yet it is by virtue of them that the righteousness that 
justifies is, for that purpose, efficacious. The righteousness of 
His Godhead gives virtue to His obedience ; the righteousness 
of His Manhood giveth capability to His obedience to justify ; 
and the righteousness that standeth in the union of these two 
natures to His office, giveth authority to that righteousness to 
do the work of which it is ordained. 

So, then, here is a righteousness that Christ, as God, has no 
need of, for He is God without it ; here is a righteousness 
that Christ, as man, has no need of to make Him so, for He 
is perfect man without it ; again, here is a righteousness that 



284 IT IS FREELY BESTOWED, 

Christ, as God-man, has no need of, for He is perfectly so 
without it. Here, then, is a righteousness that Christ, as God, 
as man, as God- man, has no need of with reference to Himself, 
and therefore He can spare it, — a justifying righteousness, 
that He, for Himself, wanteth not, and therefore He giveth it 
away. Hence 'tis called " the gift of righteousness " (Horn, 
v. 17). This righteousness, since Christ Jesus the Lord has 
made Himself under the law, must be given away ; for the 
law doth not only bind him that is under it to do justly, but 
to use charity : wherefore he must, he ought by the law, if he 
hath two coats, to give one to him that hath none. Now our 
Lord indeed hath two coats, one for Himself and one to spare : 
wherefore He freely bestows one upon those that have none. 
And thus, Christiana and Mercy and the rest of you that are 
here, doth your pardon come by deed, or by the work of 
another man. Your Lord Christ is He that has worked, 
and has given away what He wrought for to the next poor 
beggar He meets. 

But again, in order to pardon by deed, there must some- 
thing be paid to God as a price, as well as something pre- 
pared to cover us withal. Sin has delivered us up to the just 
curse of a righteous law. Now from this curse we must 
be justified by way of redemption, a price being paid for the 
harms we have done, and this is by the blood of your Lord, 
who came and stood in your place and stead, and died your 
death for your transgressions (Bom. iv. 24). Thus has He 
ransomed you from your transgressions by blood, and covered 
your polluted and deformed souls with righteousness. For 
the sake of which God passeth by you, and will not hurt you, 
when He comes to judge the world (Gal. iii. 13). 

Chris. This is brave. Now I see that there was something 
to be learnt by our being pardoned by word and deed. Good 
Mercy, let us labour to keep this in mind ; and, my children 
do you remember it also. But, Sir, was not this it that made 
my good Christian's burden fall from off his shoulder, and 
that made him give three leaps for joy ? 

Great-heart. Yes 'twas the belief of this that cut those 
strings that could not be cut by other means ; and 'twas to 



EVEN AS HE DIED TO ATONE FOR OUR SINS. 



285 



give him a proof of the virtue of this that he was suffered to 
carry his burden to the cross. 

Chris. I thought so ; for though my heart was lightful and 
joyous before, yet it is ten times more lightsome and joyous 
now. And I am persuaded by what I have felt, though I 
have felt but little as yet, that if the most burdened man 
in the world was here, and did see and believe as I now do, 
'twould make his heart the more merry and blithe. 

Great-heart. There is not only comfort and the ease of 
a burden brought to us by the sight and consideration of these, 
but an endeared affection begot in us by it. For who can, if 
he doth once but think that pardon comes, not only by 
promise but thus, but be affected with the way and means of 
his redemption, and so with the Man that hath wrought it 
for him ? 




286 THE BLESSED EFFECTS OF LOOKING TO HIS CROSS. 

Chris. True ; methinks it makes my heart bleed to think 
that He should bleed for me. O thou loving one ! O thou 
blessed one ! Thou deservest to have me ; thou hast 
bought me. Thou deservest to have me all ; thou hast paid 
for me ten thousand times more than I am worth. No marvel 
that this made the water stand in my husband's eyes, and that 
it made him trudge so nimbly on. I am persuaded he wished 
me with him ; but, vile wretch that I was, I let him come 
all alone. Mercy, that thy father and mother were here, 
yea, and Mrs. Timorous also. Nay, I wish now with all my 
heart that here was Madam Wanton too. Surely, surely their 
hearts would be affected ; nor could the fear of the one, nor 
the powerful lusts of the other, prevail with them to go home 
again, and to refuse to become good pilgrims. 

Great-heart. You speak now in the warmth of your affec- 
tions ; will it, think you, be always thus with you ? Besides, 
this is not communicated to every one, nor to every one that 
did see your Jesus bleed. There was that stood by, and that 
saw the blood run from His heart to the ground, and yet were 
so far off this, that, instead of lamenting, they laughed at 
Him ; and instead of becoming His disciples, did harden their 
hearts against Him. So that all that you have, my daughters, 
you have by a peculiar impression made by a divine con- 
templating upon what I have spoken to you. Eemember that 
'twas told you, that the hen, by her common call, gives no 
meat to her chickens : this you have, therefore, by a special 
grace. 

Now I saw, still in my dream, that they went on until they 
were come to the place that Simple and Sloth and Pre- 
sumption lay and slept in when Christian went by on 
pilgrimage ; and behold, they were hanged up in irons a little 
way off on the other side. 

Mercy. Then said Mercy to him that was their guide and 
conductor, " What are those three men ? and for what are 
they hanged there ?" 

Great-heart. These three men were men of very bad 
qualities ; they had no mind to be pilgrims themselves, and 



THE FATE OF SIMPLE, SLOTH, AND PRESUMPTION. 

whosoever they could they hin- 
dered. They were for sloth and 
folly themselves, and whoever 
they could persnade with, they 
made so too ; and withal taught 
them to presume that they 
should do well at last. They 
were asleep when Christian 
went by ; and now you go by, 
they are hanged. 

Mercy. But could they per- 
suade any to be of their opi- 
nion ? 

Gt.-heart. Yes, they turned 
several out of the way. There 
was Slow-place that they per- 
suaded to do as they. They 
also prevailed with one Short- 
wind, with one No-heart, with 
one Linger-after-lust, and with 
one Sleepy-head, and with a 
young woman — her name was 
Dull — to turn out of the way 
and become as they. Be- 
sides, they brought up an 
ill report of your Lord, per- 
suading others that he was 
a task -master. They also 
brought up an evil report of 
the good land, saving 'twas not 
half so good as some pretend 
it was. They also began to 
vilify his servants, and to 
count the very best of them 
meddlesome, troublesome busy- 
bodies : further, they would 
call the bread of God, husks ; 
the comforts of his children 



287 




jj&^> 



288 



THEIR CRIMES ENGRAVEN ON A PILLAR. 



fancies ; the travel and labour of pilgrims, things to no 
purpose. 

Chris. " Nay," said Christiana, " if they were such, they 
shall never be bewailed by me ; they have but what they 
deserve, and I think it is well that they hang so near the 
highway, that others may see and take warning. But had it 
not been well if their crimes had been engraven in some plate 




of iron or brass, and left here, even where they did their 
mischiefs, for a caution to other bad men ? 

Great-heart. So it is, as you well may perceive, if you 
will go a little to the wall. 

Mercy. rTo, no, let them hang, and their names rot, and 
their crimes live for ever against them. I think it a hio-h 
favour that they were hanged afore we came hither ; who 
knows else what they might a done to such poor women 
as we are ? 

Then she turned it into a song, saying — 



THE WAY OP TRANSGRESSORS. 289 

' ' Now then, you three, hang there, and be a sign 
To all that shall against the truth combine : 
And let him that comes after fear this end, 
If unto pilgrims he is not a friend. 

And thou, my soul, of all such men beware, 
That unto holiness opposers are." 



Thus they went on till they came at the foot of the hill 
Difficulty ; where again their good friend Mr. Great-heart 
took an occasion to tell them of what happened there when 
Christian himself went by. So he had them first to the 
spring. "Lo," saith he, "this is the spring that Christian 
drank of before he went up this hill, and then 'twas clear 
and good ; but now 'tis dirty with the feet of some that are 
not desirous that pilgrims here should quench their thirst" 
(Ezek. xxxiv. 18). Thereat Mercy said, "And why so 
envious trow?" But said their guide, " It will do, if taken 
up, and put into a vessel that is sweet and good ; for then 
the dirt will sink to the bottom, and the water come out by 
itself more clear." Thus, therefore, Christiana and her 
companions were compelled to do. They took it up, and put 
it into an earthen pot, and so let it stand till the dirt was 
gone to the bottom, and then they drank thereof. 

Next he shewed them the two by-ways that were at the 
foot of the hill, where Formality and Hypocrisy lost them- 
selves. And said he, " These are dangerous paths ; two were 
here cast away when Christian came by. And although, as 
you see, these ways are since stopped up with chains, posts, 
and a ditch, yet there are that will choose to adventure here, 
rather than take the pains to go up this hill." 

Chris. " The way of transgressors is hard " (Prov. xiii. 
15). 'Tis a wonder that they can get into those ways with- 
out danger of breaking their necks. 

Great- heart. They will venture ; yea, if at any time any of 
the King's servants doth happen to see them, and doth call 
unto them, and tell them they are in the wrong ways, and 
do bid them beware the danger, then they will railingly 
return them answer, and say, "As for the word that thou 

P P 



s$$ 







hast spoken unto ns in the name of the King, we will not 
hearken unto thee ; but we will certainly do whatsoever 
thing goeth out of our own mouths," &c. (Jer. xliv. 16, 17). 
Nay, if you look a little farther, you shall see that these ways 
are made cautionary enough, not only by these posts, and 



GREAT-HEART ENCOURAGES THE BOYS. 291 

ditch, and chain, but also by being hedged up ; yet they will 
choose to go there. 

Chris. They are idle, they love not to take pains ; up-hill 
way is unpleasant to them. So it is fulfilled unto them as it is 
written : " The way of the slothful man is a hedge of thorns " 
(Prov. xv. 19). Yea, they will rather choose to walk upon a 
snare, than to go up this hill and the rest of this way to the 
city. 

Then they set forward, and began to go up the hill, and 
up the hill they went; but before they got to the top, 
Christiana began to pant, and said, " I dare say this is a 
breathing hill ; no marvel if they that love their ease more 
than their souls choose to themselves a smoother way." 
Then said Mercy, I must sit down ; " also the least of the 
children began to cry. " Come, come," said Great-heart ; 
" sit not down here, for a little above is the Prince's arbour." 
Then took he the little boy by the hand, and led him up 
thereto. 

When they were come to the arbour, they were very 
willing to sit down ; for they were all in a pelting heat. 
Then said Mercy, " How sweet is rest to them that labour ! 
And how good is the Prince of pilgrims to provide such 
resting-places for them ! (Matt. xi. 28.) Of this arbour I 
have heard much ; but I never saw it before. But here let 
us beware of sleeping ; for as I have heard, for that it cost 
poor Christian dear." 

Then said Mr. Great-heart to the little ones, " Come, my 
pretty boys, how do you do ? what think you now of going 
on pilgrimage ? " " Sir," said the least, " I was almost beat out 
of heart ; but I thank you for lending me a hand at my need. 
And I remember now what my mother has told me, namely, 
' That the way to heaven is as up a ladder, and the way to 
hell is as down a hill.' But I had rather go up the ladder 
to life, than down the hill to death." 

Then said Mercy, " But the proverb is, ' To go down the 
hill is easy.' " But James said (for that was his name), 
" The day is coming when, in my opinion, going down hill 
will be the hardest of all " " 'Tis a good boy," said his 




master ; " thou hast given her a right answer." Then Mercy- 
smiled ; but the little boy did blush. 

Chris. "Come," said Christiana, "will yon eat a bit, a 
little to sweeten your mouths while you sit here to rest your 
legs ? For I have here a piece of pomegranate which Mr. 
Interpreter put in my hand just when I came out of his 
doors ; he gave me also a piece of an honeycomb and a little 
bottle of spirits." " I thought he gave you something," said 
Mercy, "because he called you a to-side." "Yes, so he did," 
said the other; "but, Mercy, it shall still be as I said it 
should, when at first we came from home ; thou shalt be a 
sharer in all the good that I have, because thou so willingly 
didst become my companion." Then she gave to them, and 
they did eat, both Mercy and the boys. And said Christiana 
to Mr. Great-heart, " Sir, will you do as we?" But he 
answered, "You are going on pilgrimage, and presently I 
shall return ; much good may what you have do to you. At 
home I eat the same every day." Now when they had 
eaten and drank, and had chatted a little longer, their guide 
said to them, " The day wears away ; if you think good, 
let us prepare to be going." So they got up to go, and the 



CHRISTIANA FORGETS HER BOTTLE OF SPIRITS. 



293 



little boys went before ; but Christiana forgat to take her 
bottle of spirits with her, so she sent her little boy back to 
fetch it. Then said Mercy, " I think this is a losing place. 
Here Christian lost his roll, and here Christiana left her 
bottle behind her : Sir, what is the cause of this ? " So their 
guide made answer and said, " The cause is sleep or for- 
getfulness : some sleep when they should keep awake ; and 
some forget when they should remember ; and this is the 
very cause why often, at the resting-places, some pilgrims in 
some things come off losers. Pilgrims should watch, and 
remember what they have already received under their 
greatest enjoyments, but for want of doing so, oft-times their 
rejoicing ends in tears, and their sunshine in a cloud : 
witness the story of Christian at this place." 

When they were come to the place where Mistrust and 

Timorous met Christian to persuade him to go back for fear 

of the lions, they perceived as it were a stage, and before it, 

towards the road, a broad plate, with a copy of verses written 

thereon, and underneath, the reason of 

raising up of that stage in that place 

rendered. 

The verses were these : 

' ' Let him that sees this stage take heed 
Unto his heart and tongue, 
Lest, if he do not, here he speed 
As some have long agone." 

The words underneath the verses 
were, " This stage was built to 
punish such upon who, through 
timorousness or mistrust, shall be 
afraid to go farther on pilgrimage. 
Also on this stage both Mistrust and 
Timorous were burned through the 
tongue with an hot iron, for en- 
deavouring to hinder Christian in his 
journey." 




294 THE LIONS BACKED BY GIANT GRIM. 

Then said Mercy, " This is much like to the saying of the 
Beloved, ' What shall be given unto thee ? or what shall be 
done unto thee, thou false tongue ? Sharp arrows of the 
mighty, with coals of juniper ' " (Ps. cxx. 3, 4). 

So they went on till they came within sight of the lions. 
Now Mr. Great-heart was a strong man, so he was not afraid 
of a lion ; but yet when they were come up to the place where 
the lions were, the boys that went before were glad to cringe 
behind, for they were afraid of the lions ; so they stepped 
back and went behind. At this their guide smiled, and said, 
" How now, my boys, do you love to go before when no danger 
doth approach, and love to come behind so soon as the lions 
appear?" 

Now as they went up, Mr. Great-heart drew his sword, 
with intent to make a way for the pilgrims in spite of the 
lions. Then there appeared one that it seems had taken 
upon him to back the lions. And he said to the pilgrims' 
guide, "What is the cause of your coming hither?" Now 
the name of that man was Grim, or Bloody-man, because 
of his slaying of pilgrims ; and he was of the race of the 
giants. 

Great- heart. Then said the pilgrims' guide, " These 
women and children are going on pilgrimage, and this is 
the way they must go ; and go it they shall, in spite of thee 
and the lions." 

Grim. This is not their way, neither shall they go therein. 
I am come forth to withstand them, and to that end will back 
the lions. 

Now to say truth, by reason of the fierceness of the lions, 
and of the grim carriage of him that did back them, this way 
had of late lain much unoccupied, and was almost all grown 
over with grass. 

Chris. Then said Christiana, " Though the highways have 
been unoccupied heretofore, and though the travellers have 
been made in time past to walk through by-paths, it must 
not be so now I am risen : ' Now I am risen a mother in 
Israel' " (Judges v. 6, 7). 

Grim. Then he swore by the lions but it should ; and 




therefore bid them turn aside, for they should not have pas- 
sage there. 

GtEEAT-heakt. But their guide made first his approach unto 
Grim, and laid so heavily at him with his sword, that he 
forced him to a retreat. 



296 THEY EEACH THE PORTER'S LODGE. 

Grim. Then said he that attempted to back the lions, 
" Will you slay me upon mine own ground ?" 

Great-heart. " Tis the King's highway that we are in, 
and in his way it is that thou hast placed thy lions ; but 
these women and these children, though weak, shall hold on 
their way in spite of thy lions." And with that he gave him 
again a down-right blow, and brought him upon his knees. 
With this blow he also broke his helmet, and with the next he 
cut off an arm. Then did the giant roar so hideously, that 
his voice frighted the women ; and yet they were glad to see 
him lie sprawling upon the ground. Now the lions were 
chained, and so of themselves could do nothing. Where- 
fore, when old Grim that intended to back them was dead, 
Mr. Great-heart said to the pilgrims, " Come now, and follow 
me, and no hurt shall happen to you from the lions." They 
therefore went on ; but the women trembled as they passed 
by them, the boys also looked as if they would die ; but they 
all got by without further hurt. 

Now, then, they were within sight of the porter's lodge, 
and they soon came up unto it ; but they made the more 
haste after this to go thither, because it is dangerous travel- 
ling there in the night. So, when they were come to the gate, 
the guide knocked, and the porter cried, " Who is there ?" 
But as soon as the guide had said, "It is I," he knew his 
voice, and came down ; for the guide had oft before that come 




GREAT-HEART RETURNS. 29* 

thither as a conductor of pilgrims. When he was come down, 
he opened the gate, and seeing the guide standing just before 
it (for he saw not the women, for they were behind him), he 
said unto him, " How now, Mr. Great- heart ; what is your 
business here so late to-night? " "I have brought," said he, 
" some pilgrims hither, where, by my Lord's commandment, 
they must lodge. I had been here some time ago, had I not 
been opposed by the giant that did use to back the lions. 
But I, after a long and tedious combat with him, have cut him 
off, and have brought the pilgrims hither in safety." 
Porter. Will you not go in, and stay till morning ? 
Great-heart. No, I will return to my Lord to-night. 
Chris. Oh, sir, I know not how to be willing you should 
leave us in our pilgrimage ; you have been so faithful and so 
loving to us, you have fought so stoutly for us, you have been 
so hearty in counselling of us, that I shall never forget your 
favour towards us. 

Mercy. Then said Mercy, " Oh, that we might have thy 
company to our journey's end ! How can such poor women as 
we hold out in a way so full of troubles as this way is without 
a friend and defender ? ' ' 

James. Then said James, the youngest of the boys, " Pray, 
sir, be persuaded to go with us, and help us, because we are 
so weak, and the way so dangerous as it is." 

Great- heart. I am at my Lord's commandment. If he 
shall allot me to be your guide quite through, I will willingly 
wait upon you : but here you failed at first ; for when he bid 
me come thus far with you, then you should have begged me 
of him to have gone quite through with you, and he would 
have granted your request. However, at present I must 
Avithdraw, and so, good Christiana, Mercy, and my brave 
children, adieu. 

Then the porter, Mr. Watchful, asked Christiana of her 
country and of her kindred, and she said, " I came from the 
City of Destruction, I am a widow woman, and my husband 
is dead; his name was Christian the pilgrim." " How r ' 
said the porter, "was he your husband ? " " Yes," said she, 
" and these are his children ; and this " (pointing to Mercy) 



298 



THEY ARE WELCOMED WITH JOT. 



"is one of my townswomen." 
Then the porter rang his bell, as 
at such times he is wont, and 
there came to the door one of 
the damsels, whose name was 
Humble-mind. And to her the 
porter said, " Go, tell it within 
that Christiana the wife of 
Christian and her children are 
come hither on pilgrimage." 
She went in, therefore, and told 
it. But oh, what a noise for gladness 
was there within when the damsel did 
but drop that word out of her mouth ! 

So they came with haste to the porter, 
for Christiana stood still at the door. 
Then some of the most grave said unto 
her, " Come in, Christiana ; come in, thou 
wife of that good man ; come in, thou 
blessed woman ; come in, with all that 
are with thee." So she went in, and 
they followed her that were her children 
and her companions. Now when they 
were gone in, they were had into a very 
large room, where they were bidden to sit down : so they sat 
down, and the chief of the house was called to see and 
welcome the guests. Then they came in, and, understanding 
who they were, did salute each other with a kiss, and said, 
"Welcome, ye vessels of the grace of God, welcome to us 
your friends." 

Now, because it was somewhat late, and because the 
pilgrims were weary with their journey, and also made faint 
with the sight of the fight and of the terrible lions, therefore 
they desired, as soon as might be, to prepare to go to rest. 
" Nay," said those of the family, " refresh yourselves first with a 
morsel of meat." For they had prepared for them a lamb, 
with the accustomed sauce belonging thereto (Exod. xii. 3 ; 
John i. 29) ; for the porter had heard before of their coming, 




mercy's dream. 299 

and had told it to them within. So when they had supped, 
and ended their prayer with a psalm, they desired they might 
go to rest. "But let us," said Christiana, "if we may be so 
bold as to choose, be in that chamber that was my husband's 
when he was here." So they had them up thither, and they 
lay all in a room. When they were at rest, Christiana and 
Mercy entered into discourse about things that were con- 
venient. 

Chris. Little did I think once, that when my husband went 
on pilgrimage, I should ever a followed. 

Mercy. And you as little thought of lying in his bed, and 
in his chamber to rest, as you do now. 

Chris. And much less did I ever think of seeing his face 
with comfort, and of worshipping the Lord the King with 
him ; and yet now I believe I shall. 

Mercy. Hark, don't you hear a noise ? 

Chris. Yes, 'tis, as I believe, a noise of music, for joy that 
we are here. 

Mercy. Wonderful! Music in the house, music in the 
heart, and music also in heaven, for joy that we are here. 

Thus they talked a while, and then betook themselves to 
sleep. So in the morning, when they were awake, Christiana 
said to Mercy, 

Chris. What was the matter that you did laugh in your 
sleep to-night ? I suppose you was in a dream. 

Mercy. So I was, and a sweet dream it was : but are you 
sure I laughed ? 

Chris. Yes, you laughed heartily ; but prithee, Mercy, tell 
me thy dream. 

Mercy. I was a dreaming that I sat all alone in a solitary 
place, and was bemoaning of the hardness of my heart. Now 
I had not sat there long ; but methought many were gathered 
about me to see me, and to hear what it was that I said. So 
they hearkened, and I went on bemoaning the hardness of 
my heart. At this, some of them laughed at me, some called 
me fool, and some began to thrust me about. With that 
methought I looked up, and saw one coming with wings 
towards me. So he came directly to me, and said, " Mercy, 




what aileth tliee ? " 2sTow when lie had heard me make my 
complaint, lie said, " Peace be to thee." He also wiped mine 
eyes with his handkerchief, and clad me in silver and gold ; 
he put a chain about my neck, and earrings in mine ears, and 
a beautiful crown upon my head (Ezek. xvi. 8-11). Then he 



mercy's deeam. 301 

took me by the hand, and said, "Mercy, come after me." So 
lie went up and I followed, till we came at a golden gate. 
Then he knocked, and when they within had opened, the man 
went in, and I followed him up to a throne, upon which One 
sat, and he said to me, " Welcome, daughter ! " The place 
looked bright and twinkling like the stars, or rather like the 
sun ; and I thought that I saw your husband there. So I 
awoke from my dream : but did I laugh ? 

Chris. Laugh ! Ay, and well you might, to see yourself so 
well. For you must give me leave to tell you, that I believe 
it was a good dream, and that as you have begun to find the 
first part true, so you shall find the second at last. God 
speaks once, yea twice, yet man perceiveth it not. In a 
dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon 
men, in slumbering upon the bed (Job xxxiii. 14, 15). We 
need not when a-bed lie awake to talk with God ; He can 
visit us while we sleep, and cause us then to hear His voice. 
Our heart ofttimes wakes when we sleep, and God can speak 
to that, either by words, by proverbs, by signs and similitudes, 
as well as if one was awake. 

Mercy. Well, I am glad of my dream ; for I hope ere long 
to see it fulfilled to the making of me laugh again. 

Chris. I think it is now high time to rise, and to know 
what we must do. 

Mercy. Pray, if they invite us to stay a while, let us will- 
ingly accept of the proffer. I am the willinger to stay a 
while here, to grow better acquainted with these maids ; 
methinks Prudence, Piety, and Charity have very comely and 
sober countenances. 

Chris. We shall see what they will do. 

So when they were up and ready, they came down. And 
they asked one another of their rest, and if it was comfortable 
or not. 

Mercy. " Very good," said Mercy ; " it was one of the best 
night's lodging that ever I had in my life." 

Then said Prudence and Piety, " If you will be persuaded 
to stay here a while, you shall have what the house will 
afford." 



302 



PRUDENCE CATECHISES JAMES, 



Char. "Ay, and that with a very good will," said Charity. 

So they consented, and stayed there about a month or 
above, and became very profitable one to another. And 
because Prudence would see how Christiana had brought up 
her children, she asked leave of her to catechise them. So 
she gave her free consent. Then she began at the youngest, 
whose name was James. 

Pru. And she said, " Come, James, canst thou tell who 
made thee ? " 

James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy 
Ghost. 

Pru. Good boy. And canst thou tell who saves thee ? 

James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy 
Ghost. 

Pru. Good boy, still. But how doth God the Father save 
thee? 

James. By His grace. 

Pru. How doth God the Son save thee ? 

James. By His righteousness, death and blood, and life. 




JOSEPH, AND SAMUEL. 303 

Pru. And how doth God the Holy Ghost save thee ? 

James. By His illumination, by His renovation, and by His 
preservation. 

Then said Prudence to Christiana, " You are to be com- 
mended for thus bringing up your children. I suppose I need 
not ask the rest these questions, since the youngest of them 
can answer them so well. I will therefore now apply myself 
to the youngest next." 

Pru. Then she said, "Come, Joseph" (for his name was 
Joseph), " will you let me catechise you ? " 

Jos. With all my heart. 

Pru. What is man ? 

Jos. A reasonable creature, so made by God, as my brother 
said. 

Pru. What is supposed by this word ' saved ' ? 

Jos. That man by sin has brought himself into a state of 
captivity and misery. 

Pru. What is supposed by his being saved by the Trinity ? 

Jos. That sin is so great and mighty # tyrant that none 
can pull us out of its clutches but God, and that God is so 
good and loving to man as to pull him indeed out of this 
miserable state. 

Pru. What is God's design in saving of poor men ? 

Jos. The glorifying of His name, of His grace and justice, 
&c. ; and the everlasting happiness of His creature. 

Pru. Who are they that must be saved ? 

Jos. Those that accept of His salvation. 

Pru. Good boy, Joseph ; thy mother has taught thee well, 
and thou hast hearkened to what she has said unto thee. 

Then said Prudence to Samuel, who was the eldest but 
one : 

Pru. Come, Samuel, are you willing that I should catechise 
you also ? 

Sam. Yes, forsooth, if you please. 

Pru. What is heaven ? 

Sam. A place and state most blessed, because God dwelleth 
there. 

Peu. What is hell ? 




Sam. A place and state most woful, because it is the dwell- 
ing-place of sin, the devil, and death. 

Pru. Why wouldest thou go to heaven ? 

Sam. That I may see Grod, and serve Him without weari- 
ness ; that I may see Christ, and love Him everlastingly ; that 
I may have that fulness of the Holy Spirit in me that I can 
by no means here enjoy. 

Peu. " A very good boy also, and one that has learned well." 
Then she addressed herself to the eldest, whose name was 
Matthew, and she said to him, " Come, Matthew, shall I also 
catechise yon ? " 

Mat. With a very good will. 

Peu. I ask, then, if there was ever any thing that had a 
being antecedent to, or before Grod ? 

Mat. No, for Grod is eternal ; nor is there any thing, except- 
ing Himself, that had a being nntil the beginning of the first 
day: "for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the 
sea, and all that in them is." 



MATTHEW S ANSWERS. 



305 



Pru. What do you think of the Bible ? 

Mat. It is the holy word of God. 

Pru. Is there nothing written therein but what you under- 
stand ? 

Mat. Yes, a great deal. 

Pru. What do you do when you meet with such places 
therein that you do not understand ? 

Mat. I think Grod is wiser than I. I pray also that He will 
please to let me know all therein that He knows will be for 
my good. 

Pru. How believe you as touching the resurrection of the 
dead ? 

Mat. I believe they shall rise the same that was buried, — 
the same in nature, though not in corruption. And I believe 
this upon a double account : first, because Grod has promised 
it ; secondly, because He is able to perform it. 




R R 



306 mercy's suitor, mr. brisk. 

Then said Prudence to the boys, " Yon must still hearken 
to your mother, for she can learn you more. You must also 
diligently give ear to what good talk you shall hear from 
others ; for, for your sakes do they speak good things. Observe 
also, and that with carefulness, what the heavens and the earth 
do teach you; but especially be much in the meditation of 
that book that was the cause of your father's becoming a 
pilgrim. I, for my part, my children, will teach you what I 
can while you are here ; and shall be glad if you will ask me 
questions that tend to godly edifying." 

Now by that these pilgrims had been at this place a week, 
Mercy had a visitor that pretended some good will unto her, 
and his name was Mr. Brisk. A man of some breeding, and 
that pretended to religion ; but a man that stuck very close 
to the world. So he came once or twice, or more, to Mercy, 
and offered love unto her. Now Mercy was of a fair counte- 
nance, and therefore the more alluring. 

Her mind also was, to be always busying of herself in 
doing ; for when she had nothing to do for herself, she would 
be making of hose and garments for others, and would bestow 
them upon them that had need. And Mr. Brisk, not knowing 
where or how she disposed of what she made, seemed to be 
greatly taken for that he found her never idle. " I will war- 
rant her a good housewife," quoth he to himself. 

Mercy then revealed the business to the maidens that were 
of the house, and inquired of them concerning him ; for they 
did know him better than she. So they told her that he was 
a very busy young man, and one that pretended to religion ; 
but was, as they feared, a stranger to the power of that which 
was good. 

" Nay, then," said Mercy, " I will look no more on him, for 
I purpose never to have a clog to my soul." 

Prudence then replied, " That there needed no great matter 
of discouragement to be given to him ; her continuing so as 
she had begun to do for the poor would quickly cool his 
courage." 

So the next time he comes he finds her at her old work, 
a-making of things for the poor. Then said he, "What, 




always at it ? " " Yes," said slie, " either for myself or for 
others." "And what canst thee earn a day?" qnoth he. 
" I do these things," said she, " that I may be rich in good 
works, laying up in store a good foundation against the 
time to come, that I may lay hold on eternal life " (1 Tim. vi. 
17-19). "Why, prithee, what dost thou with them?" said 
he. " Clothe the naked," said she. With that his counte- 
nance fell. So he forbore to come at her again. And when 
he was asked the reason why, he said, " That Mercy was a 
pretty lass, but troubled with ill conditions." 

When he had left her, Prudence said, " Did I not tell thee 
that Mr. Brisk would soon forsake thee ? yea, he will raise up 



308 MATTHEW FALLS SICK, 

an ill report of thee ; for notwithstanding his pretence to 
religion, and his seeming love to Mercy, yet Mercy and he 
are of tempers so different, that I believe they will never come 
together." 

Meect. I might a had husbands afore now, thongh I spake 
not of it to any ; but they were such as did not like my con- 
ditions, though never did any of them find fault with my 
person ; so they and I could not agree. 

Pru. Mercy in our days is little set by, any further than as 
to its name ; the practice which is set forth by thy conditions 
there are but few that can abide. 

Mercy. " Well," said Mercy, " if nobody will have me, I 
will die a maid, or my conditions shall be to me as a husband. 
For I cannot change my nature, and to have one that lies 
cross to me in this, that I purpose never to admit of as 
long as I live. I had' a sister named Bountiful that was 
married to one of these churls ; but he and she could never 
agree ; but because my sister was resolved to do as she had 
begun, that is, to shew kindness to the poor, therefore her 
husband first cried her down at the cross, and then turned her 
out of his doors." 

Pru. And yet he was a professor, I warrant you. 
Mercy. Yes, such a one as he was ; and of such as he the 
world is now full : but I am for none of them all. 

Now Matthew, the eldest son of Christiana, fell sick, and 
his sickness was sore upon him, for he was much pained in 
his bowels, so that he was with it at times pulled as 'twere 
both ends together. There dwelt also not far from thence one 
Mr. Skill, an ancient and well-approved physician. So Chris- 
tiana desired it, and they sent for him, and he came. "When 
he was entered the room and had a little observed the boy, he 
concluded that he was sick of the gripes. Then he said to 
his mother, "What diet has Matthew of late fed upon?" 
" Diet ! " said Christiana, " nothing but that which is whole- 
some." The physician answered, " This boy has been tam- 
pering with something that lies in his maw undigested, and 
that will not away without means. And I tell you he must 
be purged, or else he will die." 




Sam. Then said Samuel, " Mother, mother, what was that 
which my brother did gather up and eat so soon as we were 
come from the gate that is at the head of this way ? Ton 
know that there was an orchard on the left hand, on the other 
side of the wall, and some of the trees hung over the wall, 
and my brother did plash and did eat." 

Cheis. " True, my child," said Christiana, " he did take 
thereof and did eat, naughty boy as he was ; I did chide him, 
and yet he would eat thereof." 

Skill. I knew he had eaten something that was not whole- 



310 



ME. SKILL S PRESCRIPTION. 



some food. And that food, to wit, that fruit, is even the most 
hurtful of all. It is the fruit of Beelzebub's orchard. I do 
marvel that none did warn you of it ; many have died thereof. 

Chris. Then Christiana began to cry, and she said, " Oh, 
naughty boy, and oh, careless mother, what shall I do for my 
son ? " 

Skill. Come, do not be too much dejected ; the boy may 
do well again ; but he must purge and vomit. 

Chris. Pray, sir, try the utmost of your skill with him, 
whatever it costs. 

Skill. "Nay, I hope I shall be reasonable." So he made 
him a purge, but it was too weak. 'Twas said it was made 
of the blood of a goat, the ashes of an heifer, and with some 
of the juice of hyssop, &c. (Heb. x. 1-4.) When Mr. Skill 
had seen that that purge was too weak, he made him one to 
the purpose. 'Twas made ex Came et Sanguine Christi (you 
know physicians give strange medicines to then patients), 
and it was made up into pills with a promise or two, and a 
proportionable quantity of salt. (John vi. 54-57 ; Mark ix. 
49.) Now he was to take them three at a time, fasting, in 
half a quarter of a pint of the tears of repentance (Heb. ix. 
14 ; Zech. xii. 10.) When this potion was prepared and 




Matthew's recovery. 311 

brought to the boy, he was loath to take it, though torn with 
the gripes as if he should be pulled in pieces. " Come, come," 
said the physician, " you must take it." "It goes against my 
stomach," said the boy. "I must have you take it," said his 
mother. " I shall vomit it up again," said the boy. " Pray, 
sir," said Christiana to Mr. Skill, " how does it taste ? " "It 
has no ill taste," said the doctor ; and with that she touched 
one of the pills with the tip of her tongue. " Oh, Matthew ! " 
said she, " this potion is sweeter than honey. If thou lovest 
thy mother, if thou lovest thy brothers, if thou lovest Mercy, 
if thou lovest thy life, take it." So with much ado, after a 
short prayer for the blessing of God upon it, he took it, and 
it wrought kindly with him.; It caused him to purge, it 
caused him to sleep, and rest quietly, it put him into a fine 
heat and breathing sweat, and did quite rid him of his gripes. 

So in little time he got up and walked about with a staff, 
and would go from room to room, and talk with Prudence, 
Piety, and Charity of his distemper and how he was healed. 

So when the boy was healed, Christiana asked Mr. Skill, 
saying, " Sir, what will content you for your pains and care 
to and of my child ? " And he said, " You must pay the 
master of the college of physicians, according to rules made 
in that case and provided." (Heb. xiii. 11-15.) 

Chris. "But, sir," said she, "what is this pill good for 
else ? " 

Skill. It is an universal pill, 'tis good against all the 
diseases that pilgrims are incident to ; and when it is well 
prepared it will keep good time out of mind. 

Chris. Pray, sir, make me up twelve boxes of them ; for if 
I can get these, I will never take other physic. 

SkilL. " These pills are good to prevent diseases, as well 
as to cure when one is sick. Yea, I dare say it, and stand to 
it, that if a man will but use this physic as he should, it 
will make him live for ever (John vi. 50). But, good Chris- 
tiana, thou must give these pills no other way but as I have 
prescribed ; for if you do, they will do no good." So he gave 
unto Christiana physic for herself, and her boys, and for 




Mercy ; and bid Matthew take heed how he eat any more 
green plums, and kissed them, and went his way. 

It was told you before that Prudence bid the boys that if 
at any time they would, they should ask her some questions 
that might be profitable, and she would say something to 
them. 

Mat. Then Matthew, who had been sick, asked her, " Why, 
for the most part, physic should be bitter to our palates ? " 

Pru. To shew how unwelcome the word of Grod and the 
effects thereof are to a carnal heart. 

Mat. Why does physic, if it does good, purge and cause 
that we vomit ? 

Pru. To shew that the word, when it works effectually, 
cleanseth the heart and mind. For, look, what the one doth 
to the body, the other doth to the soul. 

Mat. What should we learn by seeing the flame of our fire 
go upwards ? and by seeing the beams and sweet influences 
of the sun strike downwards ? 



PRUDENCE S ANSWERS TO MATTHEW S QUESTIONS. 



313 



Pru. By the going up of the fire we are taught to ascend to 
heaven by fervent and hot desires. And by the sun, his send- 
ing his heat, beams, and sweet influences downwards, we are 
taught that the Saviour of the world, though high, reaches 
down with His grace and love to us below. 

Mat. Where have the clouds their water ? 

Pru. Out of the sea. 

Mat. What may we learn from that ? 

Pru. That ministers should fetch their doctrine from God. 

Mat. Why do they empty themselves upon the earth ? 

Pru. To shew that ministers should give out what they 
know of God to the world. 

Mat. Why is the rainbow caused by the sun ? 

Pru. To shew that the covenant of God's grace is confirmed 
to us in Christ. 




s s 






Mat. Why do the springs come from 
the sea to us through the earth ? 

Peu. To shew that the grace of God 
comes to us through the body of 
Christ. 

Mat. Why do some of the springs 
rise out of the tops of high hills ? 

Peu. To shew that the spirit of 
grace shall spring up in some that are 
great and mighty, as well as in many 
that are poor and low. 

Mat. Why doth the fire fasten upon 
the candlewick ? 

Peu. To show that unless grace doth 
kindle upon the heart, there will be no 
true light of life in us. 

Mat. Why is the wick, and tallow, 
and all, spent to maintain the light of 
the candle ? 

Peu. To shew that body, and soul, 
and all, should be at the service of, 
and spend themselves to maintain in 
good condition, that grace of God that 
is in us'. 



eve's apple. 315 

Mat. Why doth the pelican pierce her own breast with her 
bill? 

Pru. To nourish her young ones with her blood, and thereby 
to shew that Christ the blessed so loveth His young, His 
people, as to save them from death by His blood. 

Mat. What may one learn by hearing the cock to crow ? 
Pru. Learn to remember Peter's sin and Peter's repentance. 
The cock's crowing shews also that day is coming on; let, 
then, the crowing of the cock put thee in mind of that last 
and terrible day of judgment. 

ISTow about this time their month was out, wherefore they 
signified to those of the house that 'twas convenient for them 
to up and be going. Then said Joseph to his mother, " It is 
convenient that you forget not to send to the house of Mr. 
Interpreter, to pray him to grant that Mr. Great-heart should 
be sent unto us, that he may be our conductor the rest of our 
way." " Good boy," said she, " I had almost forgot." So 
she drew up a petition, and prayed Mr. Watchful the porter 
to send it by some fit man to her good friend Mr. Interpreter ; 
who, when it was come, and he had seen the contents of the 
petition, said to the messenger, " Go, tell them that I will 
send him." 

When the family where Christiana was saw that they had a 
purpose to go forward, they called the whole house together 
to give thanks to their King for sending of them such profit- 
able guests as these. Which done, they said to Christiana, 
" And shall we not shew thee something, according as our 
custom is to do to pilgrims, on which thou mayest meditate 
when thou art upon the way ? " So they took Christiana, 
her children, and Mercy into the closet, and shewed them one 
of the apples that Eve did eat of, and that she also did give to 
her husband, and that for the eating of which they both were 
turned out of Paradise, and asked her what she thought that 
was. Then Christiana said, " 'Tis food or poison, I know not 
which." So they opened the matter to her, and she held up 
her hands, and wondered (Gen. iii. 6 ; Rom. vii. 24). 

Then they had her to a place and shewed her Jacob's 
ladder. 







Now at tli at time there were 

some angels ascending upon 
it. So Christiana looked and looked to see the angels go up, 
and so did the rest of the company. Then they were going 
into another place to shew them something else, but James 
said to his mother, " Pray bid them stay here a little longer, 
for this is a curious sight." So they turned again, and stood 
feeding their eyes with this so pleasant a prospect (Gen. xxriii 
12). After this they had them into a place where did bang up 
a golden anchor ; so they bid Christiana take it down, " For," 



THEY SET FOEWARD ON THEIR JOURNEY. 317 

said they, " you shall have it with you, for 'tis of absolute 
necessity that you should, that you may lay hold of that 
within the veil, and stand steadfast, in case you should meet 
with turbulent weather ; " so they were glad thereof (Joel iii. 
16 ; Heb. vi. 19). Then they took them, and had them to the 
mount upon which Abraham our father had offered up Isaac 
his son, and shewed them the altar, the wood, the fire, and 
the knife ; for they remain to be seen to this very day (Glen, 
xxii. 9), When they had seen it, they held up then 1 hands 
and blessed themselves, and said, " Oh, what a man for love 
to his Master and for denial to himself was Abraham ! " 
After they had shewed them all these things, Prudence took 
them into the dining-room, where stood a pair of excellent 
virginals : so she played upon them, and turned what she bad 
shewed them into this excellent song, saying : 



Eve's apple we have shewed you, 

Of that be you aware : 
You have seen Jacob's ladder, too, 

Upon which angels are. 



An anchor you received have ; 

But let not these suffice, 
Until with Abra'm you have gave 

Your best a sacrifice." 



Now about this time one knocked at the door. So the 
porter opened, and behold, Mr. Great-heart was there ; but 
when he was come in, what joy was there ! For it came now 
fresh again into their minds how, but a while ago, he had 
slain old Grim Bloody-man, the Giant, and had delivered them 
from the lions. 

Then said Mr. Great-heart to Christiana and to Mercy, 
" My Lord hath sent each of you a bottle of wine, and also 
some parched corn, together with a couple of pomegranates. 
He has also sent the boys some figs and raisins to refresh you 
in your way." 

Then they addressed themselves to their journey, and Pru- 








dence and Piety went along with them. When they came at 
the gate Christiana asked the porter if any of late went by. 
He said, " No, only one some time since, who also told me 
that of late there had been a great robbery committed on the 
King's highway, as yon go ; bnt he saith the thieves are taken, 
and will shortly be tried for their lives." Then Christiana 
and Mercy was afraid ; bnt Matthew said, " Mother, fear 
nothing as long as Mr. Great-heart is to go with ns and to be 
onr condnctor." 

Then said Christiana to the porter, " Sir, I am mnch 



THEY TAKE LEAVE OF WATCHFUL. 319 

obliged to you for all the kindnesses that you have shewed me 
since I came hither ; and also for that you have been so loving 
and kind to my children. I know not how to gratify your 
kindness, wherefore pray, as a token of my respects to you, 
accept of this small mite." So she put a gold angel in his 
hand, and he made her a low obeisance, and said, " Let thy 
garments be always white, and let thy head want no ointment. 
Let Mercy live and not die, and let not her works be few." 

And to the boys he said, " Do you fly youthful lusts, and 
follow after godliness with them that are grave and wise, so 
shall you put gladness into your mother's heart, and obtain 
praise of all that are sober-minded." So they thanked the 
porter and departed. 

Now I saw in my dream that they went forward until they 
were come to the brow of the hill, where Piety, bethinking 
herself, cried out, " Alas ! I have forgot what I intended to 
bestow upon Christiana and her companions. I will go back 
and fetch it." So she ran and fetched it. 

While she was gone, Christiana thought she heard in a 
grove, a little way off on the right hand, a most curious melo- 
dious note, with words much like these : 




320 THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION. 

" Through all my life thy favour is 
So frankly shew'd to ine, 
That in thy house for evermore 
My dwelling-place shall be." 



And listening still, she thought she heard another answer 
it, saying : 

" For why ? the Lord our Grod is good, 
His mercy is for ever sure ; 
His truth at all times firmly stood, 
And shall from age to age endure." 



So Christiana asked Prudence what 'twas that made those 
curious notes ? " They are," said she, " our country birds : 
they sing these notes but seldom, except it be at the Spring, 
when the flowers appear and the sun shines warm, and then 
you may hear them all day long. I often," said she, " go out 
to hear them, we also ofttimes keep them tame in our house. 
They are very fine company for us when we are melancholy ; 
also they make the woods, and groves, and solitary places, 
places desirous to be in" (Song ii. 11, 12). 

By this time Piety was come again ; so she said to Chris- 
tiana, " Look here ; I have brought thee a scheme of all those 
things that thou hast seen at our house, upon which thou 
mayest look when thou fhidest thyself forgetful, and call those 
things again to remembrance for thy edification and comfort." 

Now they began to go down the hill into the Valley of 
Humiliation. It was a steep hill, and the way was slippery ; 
but they were very careful, so they got down pretty well. 
When they were down in the valley, Piety said to Christiana, 
" This is the place where Christian, your husband, met with 
the foul fiend Apollyon, and where they had that dreadful 
fight that they had. I know you cannot but have heard 
thereof. But be of good courage, as long as you have here 
Mr. Great-heart to be your guide and conductor we hope you 
will fare the better." So when these two had committed the 




pilgrims unto the conduct of their guide, he went forward and 
they went after. 

Great-heart. Then said Mr. Great-heart, " We need not to 
be so afraid of this valley ; for here is nothing to hurt us, 
unless we procure it to ourselves. 'Tis true, Christian did 
here meet with Apollyon, with whom he also had a sore com- 
bat ; but that fray was the fruit of those slips that he got in 
his going down the hill. For they that get slips there must 
look for combats here ; and hence it is that this valley has 
got so hard a name. For the common people, when they hear 
that some frightful thing has befallen such an one in such a 
place, are of an opinion that that place is haunted with some 
foul fiend or evil spirit, when, alas, it is for the fruit of their 
doing that such things do befal them there. 

" This Valley of Humiliation is of itself as fruitful a place 
as any the crow flies over, and I am persuaded, if we could 
hit upon it, we might find somewhere hereabouts something 
that might give us an account why Christian was so hardly 
beset in this place." 

Then James said to his mother, "Lo, yonder stands a 
pillar, and it looks as if something was written thereon ; let 
us go and see what it is." So they went, and found there 
written, " Let Christian's slips before he came hither, and the 
battles that he met with in this place, be a warning to those 
that come after." 

t T 



322 



THE PILLAR AND ITS INSCRIPTION. 



"Lo," said their guide, "did not I tell you, that there 
was something hereabouts that would give intimation of the 
reason why Christian was so hard beset in this place ? " 

Then turning himself to Christiana, he said, "No dispa- 
ragement to Christian more than to many others, whose hap 
and lot his was. For 'tis easier going up than down this hill; 
and that can be said but of few hills in all these parts of the 
world. But we will leave the good man, — he is at rest, he 
also had a brave victory over his enemy ; let Him grant that 
dwelleth above, that we fare no worse, when we come to be 
tried, than he. 

" But we will come again to 
this Valley of Humiliation. It 
is the best and most fruitful 
piece of ground in all those 
parts. It is fat ground, and, 
as you see, consisteth much in 
3jC-'. Jfe meadows ; and if a man was to 

come here in the summer-time, 
■H as we do now, if he knew not 

any thing before thereof, and 
if he also delighted himself in 
the sight of his eyes, he might 
see that that would be delight- 
ful to him. Behold, how green 
this valley is ! also how beauti- 
fied with lilies ! * I have also 
known many labouring men 
that have got good estates in 
this Valley of Humiliation (for 
Grod resisteth the proud, but 
gives more, more grace to the 
humble) ; for indeed it is a 
very fruitful soil, and doth bring 
forth by handfuls. Some also 
have wished that the next way 



fi 




1 ; James ir. 6 ; 1 Peter v. 5. 




to their Father's house were here, that they might be troubled 
no more with either hills or mountains to go over; but the 
way is the way, and there's an end." 

ISTow as they were going along and talking, they espied a 
boy feeding his father's sheep. The boy was in very mean 



324 the shepherd's boy. 

clothes, but of a very fresh and well-favoured countenance; 
and as lie sate by himself, he sung. " Hark," said Mr. Great- 
heart, "to what the shepherd's boy saith." 
So they hearkened, and he said : 



1 He that is down needs fear no fall, 

He that is low no pride ; 
He that is humble ever shall 

Have Grod to be his guide. 
I am content with what I have, 

Little be it or much ; 
And, Lord, contentment still I crave, 

Because thou savest such. 
Fulness to such a burden is 

That go on pilgrimage : 
Here little, and hereafter bliss, 

Is best from age to age." * 



Then said their guide, "Do you hear him ? I will dare to 
say that this boy lives a merrier life, and wears more of that 
herb called heart's- ease in his bosom, than he that is clad in 
silk and velvet : but we will proceed in our discourse. 

" In this valley our Lord formerly had his country-house ; 
he loved much to be here. He loved also to walk these 
meadows, for he found the air was pleasant. Besides, here a 
man shall be free from the noise and from the hurryings of 
this life : all states are full of noise and confusion ; only the 
Valley of Humiliation is that empty and solitary place. Here 
a man shall not be so let and hindered in his contemplation 
as in other places he is apt to be. This is a valley that 
nobody walks in but those that love a pilgrim's life. And 
though Christian had the hard hap to meet here with Apoll- 
yon, and to enter with him a brisk encounter, yet I must tell 
you, that in former times men have met with angels here, 
have found pearls here, and have in this place found the words 
of life (Hos. xii. 4, 5). 

" Did I say, our Lord had here in former days his country- 

* Phil. iv. 12, 13; Heb. xiii. 5. 



VALLEY OF HUMILIATION. 



325 



house, and that he loved here to walk ? I will add, in this 
place, and to the people that live and trace these grounds, he 
has left a yearly revenue to be faithfully paid them at certain 
seasons for their maintenance by the way, and for their further 
encouragement to go on in their pilgrimage " (Matt. xi. 29). 

Sam. Now as they went on, Samuel said to Mr. Great- 
heart, " Sir, I perceive that in this valley my father and 
Apollyon had their battle ; but whereabout was the fight, for 
I perceive this valley is large ? " 

Gteeat-heaet. Your father had that battle with Apollyon at 
a place yonder, before us, in a narrow passage just beyond 
Forgetful Green. And indeed that place is the most danger- 
ous place in all these parts. For if at any time the pilgrims 
meet with any brunt, it is when they forget what favours they 
have received, and how unworthy they are of them. This is 
the place also where others have been hard put to it. But 




•^ ^VSf 



326 THE NOTABLE PLACES IN THE VALLEY. 

more of the place when we are come to it ; for I persuade 
myself that, to this day, there remains either some sign of 
the battle, or some monument to testify that such a battle 
there was fought. 

Meect. Then said Mercy, "I think I am as well in this 
valley as I have been anywhere else in all our journey. The 
place methinks suits with my spirit. I love to be in such 
places where there is no rattling with coaches, nor rumbling 
with wheels. Methinks here one may, without much molesta- 
tion, be thinking what he is, whence he came, what he has 
done, and to what the King has called him. Here one may 
think, and break at heart and melt in one's spirit, until one's 
eyes become like the fish-pools of Heshbon. They that go 
rightly through this valley of Baca make it a well ; the rain 
that Grod sends down from heaven upon them that are here 
also filleth the pools. Tins valley is that from whence also 
the King will give to them vineyards, and they that go 
through it shall sing * (as Christian did, for all he met with 
Apollyon)." 

Great-heart. " 'Tis true," said their guide, " I have gone 
through this valley many a time, and never was better than 
when here. I have also been a conduct to several pilgrims, 
and they have confessed the same, ' To this man will I look,' 
saith the King, ' even to him that is poor and of a contrite 
Spirit, and that trembles at my word.' " 

Now they were come to the place where the afore-mentioned 
battle was fought. Then said the guide to Christiana, her 
children, and Mercy, " This is the place ; on this ground 
Christian stood, and up there came Apollyon against him. 
And look, did not I tell you, here is some of your husband's 
blood upon these stones to this day. Behold also, how here 
and there are yet to be seen upon the place some of the 
shivers of Apollyon's broken darts. See also how they did 
beat the ground with their feet, as they fought to make good 
their places against each other ; how also with their by-blows 
they did split the very stones in pieces. Verily Christian 

* Song vii. 4 ; Ps. lxxxiv. 5-7 ; Hos. ii. 15. 



THE MONUMENT OF CHRISTIAN'S VICTORY. 327 

did here play the man, and shewed himself as stout as could, 
had he been there, even Hercules himself. When Apollyon 
was beat, he made his retreat to the next valley, that is called 
the Valley of the Shadow of Death, unto which we shall come 
anon. Lo, yonder also stands a monument on which is en- 
graven this battle, and Christian's victory, to his fame through- 
out all ages." 

So because it stood just on the way-side before them, they 
stepped to it, and read the writing, which, word for word, 
was this : 



' Hard "by here was a battle fought, 

Most strange, and yet most true : 
Christian and Apollyon sought 

Each other to subdue. 
The man so bravely play'd the man 

He made the fiend to fly : 
Of which a monument I stand, 

The same to testify." 



When they had passed by this place, they came upon the 
borders of the shadow of Death, and this valley was longer 
than the other ; a place also most strangely haunted with evil 
things, as many are able to testify. But these women and 




328 A LION IN THE PATH. 

children went the better through it, because they had day- 
light, and because Mr. Great-heart was their conductor. 

When they were entered upon this valley, they thought 
that they heard a groaning as of dead men, a very great 
groaning. They thought also they did hear words of lamen- 
tation spoken, as of some in extreme torment. These things 
made the boys to quake ; the women also looked pale and 
wan ; but their guide bid them be of good comfort. 

So they went on a little farther, and they thought that 
they felt the ground begin to shake under them, as if some 
hollow place was there ; they heard also a kind of a hissing 
as of serpents ; but nothing as yet appeared. Then said the 
boys, "Are we not yet at the end of this doleful place?" 
But the guide also bid them be of good courage, and look 
well to their feet, " Lest haply," said he, " you be taken in 
some snare." 

Now James began to be sick ; but I think the cause thereof 
was fear : so his mother gave him some of that glass of spirits 
that she had given her at the Interpreter's house, and three 
of the pills that Mr. Skill had prepared, and the boy began 
to revive. Thus they went on, till they came to about the 
middle of the valley, and then Christiana said, " Methinks I 
see something yonder upon the road before us, a thing of 
such a shape such as I have not seen." Then said Joseph, 
"Mother, what is it?" "An ugly thing, child, an ugly 
thing," said she. "But, mother, what is it like?" said he. 
" 'Tis like I cannot tell what," said she. And now it was but 
a little way off. Then said she, " It is nigh." 

"Well, well," said Mr. Great-heart, "let them that are 
most afraid keep close to me." So the fiend came on, and 
the conductor met it ; but when it was just come to him, it 
vanished to all their sights. Then remembered they what 
had been said some time ago, " Resist the devil, and he will 
fly from you." 

They went therefore on, as being a little refreshed; but 
they had not gone far, before Mercy, looking behind her, saw, 
as she thought, something most like a lion, and it came a 
great padding pace after ; and it had a hollow voice of roar- 




ing, and at every roar that it gave, it made all the valley echo, 
and their hearts to ache, save the heart of him that was their 
guide. So it came up, and Mr. Great-heart went behind, and 
put the pilgrims all before him. The lion also came on apace, 
and Mr. Great-heart addressed himself to give him battle. 
But when he saw that it was determined that resistance 

u u 



330 A PIT ACEOSS THE WAY. 

should be made, he also drew back, and came no farther 
(1 Pet. v. 8, 9). 

Then they went on again, and their conductor did go before 
them, till they came at a place where was cast up a pit the 
whole breadth of the way ; and before they could be prepared 
to go over that, a great mist and a darkness fell upon them, 
so that they could not see. Then said the pilgrims, " Alas ! 
now what shall we do?" But their guide made answer, 
" Fear not ; stand still, and see what an end will be put to 
this also:" so they stayed there because their path was 
marred. They then also thought that they did hear more 
apparently the noise and rushing of the enemies ; the fire, 
also and the smoke of the pit was much easier to be dis- 
cerned. Then said Christiana to Mercy, "Now I see what 
my poor husband went through. I have heard much of this 
place, but I never was here afore now ; poor man ! he went 
here all alone in the night ; he had night almost quite through 
the way ; also these fiends were busy about him, as if they 
would have torn him in pieces. Many have spoke of it, but 
none can tell what the Valley of the Shadow of Death should 
mean until they come in it themselves. '^The heart knows its 
own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.' 
To be here is a fearful thing." 

Geeat-heaet. This is like doing business in great waters, 
or like going down into the deep ; this is like being in the 
heart of the sea, and like going down to the bottoms of the 
mountains. Now it seems as if the earth with its bars were 
about us for ever. " But let them that walk in darkness, and 
have no light, trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon 
their God." For my part, as I have told you already, I have 
gone often through this valley, and have been much harder 
put to it than now I am, and yet you see I am alive. I would 
not boast, for that I am not mine own Saviour ; but I trust 
we shall have a good deliverance. Come, let us pray for light 
to Him that can lighten our darkness, and that can rebuke, 
not only these, but all the Satans in hell, 

So they cried and prayed, and God sent light and deliver- 



GOD SENDS LIGHT AND DELIVERANCE. 331 

ance, for there was now no let in their way ; no, not there, 
where but now they were stopped with a pit. 

Yet they were not got through the valley ; so they went on 
still, and behold, great stinks and loathsome smells, to the 
great annoyance of them. Then said Mercy to Christiana, 
" There is not such pleasant being here as at the Gate, or at 
the Interpreter's, or at the house where we lay last." 

" Oh, but," said one of the boys, "it is not so bad to go 
through here, as it is to abide here always ; and for aught I 
know, one reason why we must go this way to the house 
prepared for us is, that our home might be made the sweeter 
to us." 

" Well said, Samuel," quoth the guide ; " thou hast now 
spoke like a man." "Why, if ever I get out here again," 
said the boy, " I think I shall prize light and good way better 
than ever I did in all my life." Then said the guide, " We 
shall be out by and by." 






M 




332 HEEDLESS SLAIN, AND TAKEHEED ESCAPES. 

So on they went, and Joseph said, " Cannot we see to the 
end of this valley as yet ? " Then said the guide, " Look to 
your feet, for yon shall presently be among the snares." So 
they looked to their feet and went on ; bnt they were troubled 
much with the snares. Now when they were come among 
the snares, they espied a man cast into the ditch on the left 
hand, with his flesh all rent and torn. Then said the guide, 
" That is one Heedless, that was a going this way ; he has lain 
there a great while. There was one Takeheed with him when 
he was taken and slain, but he escaped their hands. You 
cannot imagine how many are killed here about ; and yet men 
are so foolishly venturous, as to set out lightly on pilgrimage, 
and to come without a guide. Poor Christian ! it was a 
wonder that he here escaped ; but he was beloved of his God ; 
also he had a good heart of his own, or else he could never a 
done it." Now they drew towards the end of the way, and 
just there, where Christian had seen the cave when he went 
by, out thence came forth Maul, a giant. This Maul did use to 
spoil young pilgrims with sophistry, and he called Great-heart 
by his name, and said unto him, " How many times have you 
been forbidden to do these things ? " Then said Mr. Great- 
heart, " What things ? " " What things ? " quoth the giant, 
" you know what things ; but I will put an end to your trade." 
" But pray," said Mr. Great-heart, " before we fall to it, let us 
understand wherefore we must fight " (uow the women and 
children stood trembling, and knew not what to do). Quoth 
the giant, " You rob the country, and rob it with the worst 
of thefts." " These are but generals," said Mr. Great-heart, 
" come to particulars, man." 

Then said the giant, " Thou practisest the craft of a kid- 
napper ; thou gatherest up women and children, and carriest 
them into a strange country, to the weakening of my master's 
kingdom." But now Great-heart replied, " I am a servant 
of the God of heaven, my business is to persuade sinners to 
repentance ; I am commanded to do my endeavour to turn 
men, women, and children from darkness to light, and from 
the power of Satan to God ; and if this be indeed the ground 
of thy quarrel, let us fall to it as soon as thou wilt." 



GIANT MAUL ASSAULTS GREAT-HEART. 



333 



Then the giant came up, and Mr. Great-heart went to meet 
him, and as he went he drew his sword, but the giant had a 
club. So without more ado they fell to it, and at the first 
blow the giant stroke Mr. Great-heart down upon one of his 
knees : with that, the women and children cried out. So Mr. 
Great-heart, recovering himself, laid about him in full lusty 
manner, and gave the giant a wound in his arm: thus he 
fouo-ht for the space of an hour to that height of heat, that 
the breath came out of the giant's nostrils as the heat doth 
out of a boiling cauldron. 

Then they sat down to rest them, but Mr. Great-heart 
betook him to prayer; also the women and children did, 
nothing but sigh and cry all the time that the battle did 
last. 




334 giant maul's pillar. 

When they had rested them, and taken breath, they both 
fell to it again, and Mr. Great-heart with a fall blow fetched 
the giant down to the gronnd. " Nay, hold, and let me 
recover," quoth he. So Mr. Great-heart fairly let him get 
np ; so to it they went again ; and the giant missed but little 
of all- to-breaking Mr. Great-heart's skull with his club. 

Mr. Great-heart seeing that, runs to him in the fall heat of 
his spirit, and pierceth him under the fifth rib ; with that the 
giant began to faint, and could hold up his club no longer. 
Then Mr. Great-heart seconded his blow, and smit the head 
of the giant from his shoulders. Then the women and 
children rejoiced, and Mr. Great-heart also praised God for 
the deliverance He had wrought. 

When this was done, they amongst them erected a pillar, 
and fastened the giant's head thereon, and wrote underneath, 
in letters that passengers might read : 



: He that did wear this head was one 

That pilgrims did misuse ; 
He stopt their way, he spared none, 

But did them all abuse ; 
Until that I, Great-heart, arose, 

The pilgrim's guide to be ; 
Until that I did him oppose 

That was their enemy." 



Now I saw that they went to the ascent that was a little 
way off, cast up to be a prospect for pilgrims (that was the 
place from whence Christian had the first sight of Faithful 
his brother). Wherefore here they sat down, and rested; 
they also here did eat and drink and make merry, for that 
they had gotten deliverance from this so dangerous an enemy. 
As they sat thus and did eat, Christiana asked the guide, " If 
he had caught no hurt in the battle ? " Then said Mr. Great- 
heart, " No, save a little on my flesh ; yet that also shall be so 
far from being to my determent, that it is, at present, a proof 
of my love to my Master and you, and shall be a means, by 
grace, to increase my reward at last." 



Jl, 




" But was yon not afraid, good sir, when yon see him come 
ont with his club ? " 

"It is my duty," said he, " to distrust mine own ability, 
that I may have reliance on Him that is stronger than all." 
(2 Cor. iv.) 



336 



THET CONVERSE ABOUT THEIR VICTORY. 



" But what did you think when he fetched you down to the 
ground at the first blow ? " 

"Why, I thought," quoth he, "that so my Master Him- 
self was served, and yet He it was that conquered at the 
last." 

Matt. When you all have thought what you please, I think 
God has been wonderful good unto us, both in bringing us 
out of this valley, and in delivering us out of the hand of this 
enemy ; for my part, I see no reason why we should distrust 
our God any more, since He has now, and. in such a place as 
this, given us such testimony of His love as this. 

Then they got up and went forward. Now a little before 




THET FIND OLD HONEST. 



337 



them stood an oak ; and under it, when they came to it, they 
found an old pilgrim, fast asleep ; they knew that he was a 
pilgrim by his clothes and his staff and his girdle. 

So the guide, Mr. Great-heart, awaked him, and the old 
gentleman, as he lift up his eyes, cried out, "What's the 
matter ? who are you ? and what is your business here ? " 

G-reat- heart. " Come, man, be not so hot ; here is none 
but friends." Yet the old man gets up and stands upon his 
guard, and will know of them what they were. Then said 
the guide, " My name is Great-heart, I am the guide of these 
pilgrims, which are going to the celestial country." 

Honest. Then said Mr. Honest, 
" I cry you mercy ; I feared that 
you had been of the company of 
those that some time ago did rob 
Little- faith of his money; but now 
I look better about me, I perceive 
you are honester people." 

Great-heart. Why, what would 
or could you a done, to a helped 
yourself, if we indeed had been of 
that company ? 

Honest. Done ! why I would a 
fought as long as breath had been 
in me ; and had I so done, I am 
sure you could never have given me 
the worst on't ; for a Christian can 
never be overcome, unless he shall 
yield of himself. 

Gt.-ht. "Well 
said, father Ho- 
nest," quoth the 
guide, " for by 
this, I know thou 
art a cock of the 
right kind, for 
thou hast said the 
truth." 




338 THEIE CONVERSATION. 

Honest. And by this also I know that thou knowest what 
true pilgrimage is ; for all others do think that we are the 
soonest overcome of any. 

Great-heart. Well, now we are so happily met, pray let 
me crave your name, and the name of the place you came 
from ? 

Honest. My name I cannot, but I came from the town of 
Stupidity ; it lieth about four degrees beyond the City of 
Destruction. 

Great-heart. Oh! are you that countryman, then? I deem 
I have half a guess of you ; your name is Old Honesty, is it 
not? 

Honest. So the old gentleman blushed, and said, " Not 
Honesty in the abstract, but Honest is my name ; and I wish 
that my nature shall agree to what I am called. But, sir," 
said the old gentleman, "how could you guess that I am 
such a man, since I came from such a place ? " 

Great-heart. I had heard of you before by my master ; 
for He knows all things that are done on the earth. But I 
have often wondered that any should come from your place, 
for your town is worse than is the City of Destruction itself. 

Honest. Yes, we lie more off from the sun, and so are 
more cold and senseless ; but was a man in a mountain of 
ice, yet if the sun of righteousness will arise upon him, his 
frozen heart shall feel a thaw ; and thus it hath been with 
me. 

Great- heart. I believe it, father Honest, I believe it ; for I 
know the thing is true. 

Then the old gentleman saluted all the pilgrims with a 
holy kiss of charity, and asked them of their names, and how 
they had fared since they set out on their pilgrimage. 

Chris. Then said Christiana, " My name I suppose you have 
heard of; good Christian was my husband, - and these four 
were his children." But can you think how the old gentle- 
man was taken when she told him who she was ! He skipped, 
he smiled, and blessed them with a thousand good wishes, 
saying : 

Honest. " I have heard much of your husband, and of his 




travels and wars which he underwent in his days. Be it 
spoken to your comfort, the name of your husband rings all 
over these parts of the world : his faith, his courage, his 
enduring, and his sincerity under all, has made his name 
famous." Then he turned him to the boys, and asked them 
of their names, which they told him : and then said he unto 
them, " Matthew, be thou like Matthew the publican, not in 
vice, but in virtue. Samuel," said he, " be thou like Samuel 
the prophet, a man of faith and prayer. Joseph," said he, 
"be thou like Joseph in Potiphar's house, chaste, and one 
that flies from temptation. And James, be thou like James 
the Just, and like James the brother of our Lord." * 

Then they told him of Mercy, and how she had left her 
town and her kindred to come along with Christiana and 
with her sons. At that the old honest man said, " Mercy 

* Matt. x. 3 ; Ps. xcix. 6 ; Gen. xxxix. ; Acts i. 13, 14. 



340 GREAT- HEART'S INQUIRIES ABOUT FEARING. 

is thy name ? by mercy shalt thou be sustained, and 
carried through all those difficulties that shall assault thee 
in thy way ; till thou shalt come thither where thou shalt 
look the fountain of mercy in the face with comfort." 

All this while the guide, Mr. Great-heart, was very much 
pleased, and smiled upon his companion. 

Now as they walked along together, the guide asked the 
old gentleman if he did not know one Mr. Fearing that came 
on pilgrimage out of his parts. 

Honest. "Yes, very well," said he; "he was a man that 
had the root of the matter in him, but he was one of the 
most troublesome pilgrims that ever I met with in all my 
days." 

Great- heart. I perceive you knew him, for you have given 
a very right character of him. 

Honest. Knew him ! I was a great companion of his, I 
was with him most an end ; when he first began to think of 
what would come upon us hereafter, I was with him. 

Great-heart. I was his guide from my master's house to 
the gates of the Celestial City. 

Honest. Then you knew him to be a troublesome one. 

Great-heart. I did so, but I could very well bear it ; for 
men of my calling are oftentimes entrusted with the conduct 
of such as he was. 

Honest. Well, then, pray let us hear a little of him, and 
how he managed himself under your conduct. 

Great-heart. " Why, he was always afraid that he should 
come short of whither he had a desire to go. Every thing 
frightened him that he heard any body speak of, that had 
but the least appearance of opposition in it. I hear that he 
lay roaring at the Slough of Despond for above a month 
together, nor durst he, for all he saw several go over before 
him, venture, though they, many of them, offered to lend him 
their hand. He would not go back again neither. The 
Celestial City, he said he should die if he came not to it ; 
and yet was dejected at every difficulty, and stumbled at 
every straw that any body cast in his way. Well, after he 
had lain at the Slough of Despond a great while, as I have 



HIS TROUBLESOME PILGRIMAGE. 341 

told you, one sunshine morning, I do not know how, he 
ventured, and so got over. But when he was over, he would 
scarce believe it. He had, I think, a Slough of Despond in 
his mind, a slough that he carried everywhere with him, or 
else he could never have been as he was. So he came up to 
the gate, — you know what I mean, — that stands at the head 
of this way, and there also he stood a good while before he 
would adventure to knock. When the gate was opened, he 
would give back, and give place to others, and say that he 
was not worthy. For, for all he gat before some to the gate, 
yet many of them went in before him. There the poor man 
would stand shaking and shrinking ; I dare say it would have 
pitied one's heart to have seen him ; nor would he go back 
again. At last he took the hammer that hanged on the gate 
in his hand, and gave a small rap or two ; then one opened 
to him, but he shrunk back as before. He that opened stept 
out after him, and said, ■ Thou trembling one, what wantest 
thou?' With that he fell down to the ground. He that 
spoke to him wondered to see him so faint. So he said to 
him, ' Peace be to thee ; up, for I have set open the door to 
thee ; come in, for thou art blest.' With that he gat up, and 
went in trembling ; and when he was in, he was ashamed to 
shew his face. Well, after he had been entertained there 
a while, as you know how the manner is, he was bid go on 
his way, and also told the way he should take. So he came 
till he came to our house ; but as he behaved himself at the 
gate, so did he at my master the Interpreter's door. He lay 
thereabout in the cold a good while before he would ad- 
venture to call : yet he would not go back. And the nights 
were long and cold then. Nay, he had a note of necessity in 
his bosom to my master, to receive him, and grant him the 
comfort of his house ; and also to allow him a stout and 
valiant conduct, because he was himself so chicken-hearted a 
man ; and yet for all that he was afraid to call at the door. 
So he lay up and down thereabouts till, poor man, he was 
almost starved ; yea, so great was his dejection, that though 
he saw several others for knocking got in, yet he was afraid 
to venture. At last, I think I looked out of the window, and 



342 



FEARING S TIMIDITY. 




perceiving a man to be np and 

down about the door, I went 

out to him, and asked what he was ; 

but, poor man, the water stood in 

his eyes. So I perceived what he 

wanted. I went therefore in, and 

told it in the house, and we shewed 

the thing to our Lord ; so he sent 

me out again to entreat him to 

come in, but I dare say I had hard 

work to do it. At last he came 

in, and I will say that for my Lord, 

he carried it wonderful lovingly to 

him. There were but a few 

good bits at the table, but 

some of it was laid upon his 

trencher. Then he presented 

the note, and my Lord looked 

thereon, and said his desire 

should be granted. So when 

he had been there a good 

while, he seemed to get some 

heart, and to be a little more 

comfortable ; for my master, 

you must know, is one of 

very tender bowels, specially 

to them that are afraid, 

wherefore he carried it so towards 

him, as might tend most to his 

encouragement. Well, when he 

had had a sight of the things of 

the place, and was ready to take 

his journey to go to the city, my 

Lord, as he did to Christian before, 

gave him a bottle of spirits, and 

some comfortable things to eat. 

Thus we set forward, and I went 

before him ; but the man was but 



HIS MODESTY. 



343 



of few words, only he would sigh 
aloud. 

" When we were come to where 
the three fellows were hanged, he 
said, that he doubted that that 
would be his end also. Only he 
seemed glad when he saw the cross 
and the sepulchre. There I confess 
he desired to stay a little to look ; 
and he seemed for a while after to 
be a little cheery. When we came 
at the Hill Difficulty, he made no 
stick at that, nor did he 
much fear the lions ; for you 
must know that his trouble 
was not about such things 
as those, his fear was about 
his acceptance at last. 

" I got him in at the house 
Beautiful I think before he 
was willing ; also, when he 
was in, I brought him ac- 
quainted with the damsels 
that were of the place ; but 
he was ashamed to make 
himself much for company ; 
he desired much to be alone, 
yet he always loved good talk and 
often would get behind the screen 
to hear it ; he also loved much to 
see ancient things, and to be 
pondering them in his mind. 
He told me afterwards, that he 
loved to be in those two houses 
from which he came last, to wit, at 
the Gate, and that of the Inter- 
preter's, but that he durst not be so 
bold to ask. 




344 



HIS PASSAGE THROUGH DEATH S VALLEY. 




" When we went also from the 
house Beautiful, down the hill, 
into the Valley of Humiliation, he 
went down as well as ever I saw 
a man in my life; for he cared 
not how mean he was so he might 
be happy at last. Tea, I think 
there was a kind of a sympathy 
betwixt that valley and him ; for 
I never saw him better in all his 
pilgrimage than when he was in 
that valley. 

" Here he would lie down, 

embrace the ground, and kiss 

the very flowers that grew in 

^ this valley (Lam. iii. 27-29). 

j| He would now be up every 

morning by break of day, 

H^ tracing and walking to and 

i fro in this valley. 

! "But when he was come 

to the entrance of the Valley 

of the Shadow of Death, I 

pF thought I should have lost 

^ my man ; not for that he had 

any inclination to go back, — 

that he always abhorred, — 

but he was ready to die for fear. 

' Oh, the hobgoblins will have me, 

the hobgoblins will have me ! ' 

cried he, and I could not beat him 

out on't. He made such a noise 

and such an outcry here, that, had 

they but heard him, 'twas enough 

to encourage them to come and 

fall upon us. 

"But this I took very great 
notice of, that this valley was as 



HIS TRIUMPHANT DEATH. 



345 



quiet while lie went through it, 
as ever I knew it before or since. 
I suppose those enemies here had 
now a special check from our Lord, 
and a command not to meddle 
until Mr. Fearing was passed over it. 
" It would be too tedious to tell 
you of all, we will therefore only 
mention a passage or two more. 
When he was come at Vanity Fair, 
I thought he would have fought 
with all the men in the fair; I 
feared there we should both 
have been knocked o' th' 
head, so hot was he against 
their fooleries. Upon the en- 
chanted ground he was also 
very wakeful. But when he 
was come at the river where 
was no bridge, there again 
he was in a heavy case; now, ^ 
now, he said, he should be [j 
drowned for ever, and so 
never see that face with com- 
fort that he had come so many 
miles to behold. 

" And here also I took notice of 
what was very remarkable, the water 
of that river was lower at this time 
than ever I saw it in all my life ; 
so he went over at last not much 
above wet-shod. When he was 
going up to the gate, Mr. Great- 
heart began to take his leave of 
him, and to wish him a good 
reception above; so he said, 'I 
shall, I shall.' Then parted we 
asunder, and I saw him no more." 




T Y 



346 fearing's character. 

Honest. Then it seems he was well at last. 

Great- heart. Yes, yes ; I never had doubt about him : he 
was a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept very- 
low ; and that made his life so burdensome to himself, and so 
troublesome to others (Ps. lxxxviii.). He was, above many, 
tender of sin; he was so afraid of doing injuries to others, 
that he often would deny himself of that which was lawful 
because he would not offend (Rom. xiv. 21 ; 1 Cor. viii. 13). 

Honest. But what should be the reason that such a good 
man should be all his days so much in the dark ? 

Great- heart. There are two sorts of reasons for it ; one is, 
the wise God will have it so ; some must pipe, and some must 
weep (Matt. xi. 16-18) : now Mr. Fearing was one that 
played upon this bass. He and his fellows sound the sack- 
but, whose notes are more doleful than the notes of other 
music are. Though, indeed, some say, the bass is the ground 
of music. And for my part, I care not at all for that pro- 
fession that begins not in heaviness of mind. The first string 
that the musician usually touches is the bass, when he intends 
to put all in tune ; God also plays upon this string first when 
he sets the soul in tune for Himself. Only here was the im- 
perfection of Mr. Fearing, he could play upon no other music 
but this till toward his latter end. 

I make bold to talk thus metaphorically for the ripening of 
the wits of young readers, and because, in the Book of the 
Revelations, the saved are compared to a company of mu- 
sicians that play upon their trumpets and harps, and sing 
their songs before the throne (Rev. viii. 2 ; xiv. 2, 3). 

Honest. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by 
what relation you have given of him. Difiiculties, lions, or 
Vanity Fair, he feared not at all ; 'twas only sin, death, and 
hell that was to him a terror, because he had some doubts 
about his interest in that celestial country. 

Great-heart. You say right: those were the things that 
were his troublers, and they, as you have well observed, arose 
from the weakness of his mind thereabout, not from weakness 
of spirit as to the practical part of a pilgrim's life. I dare 
believe, that, as the proverb is, he could have bit a fire brand, 




had it stood in his way ; but the things with which he was 
oppressed no man ever yet conld shake off with ease. 

Chris. Then said Christiana, " This relation of Mr. Fearing 
has done me good. I thought nobody had been like me, but 
I see there was some semblance 'twixt this good man and I, 
only we differed in two things; his troubles were so great 
they brake out, but mine I kept within. His also lay so hard 
upon him they made him that he could not knock at the 
houses provided for entertainment; but my trouble was always 
such as made me knock the louder." 



348 



FEARING S CHARACTER. 



Mercy. If I might also speak my heart, I must say, that 
something of him has also dwelt in me. For I have ever been 
more afraid of the lake and the loss of a place in paradise, 
than I have been of the loss of other things. Oh, thought I, 
may I have the happiness to have a habitation there ; 'tis 
enough, though I part with all the world to win it. 

Matt. Then said Matthew, " Fear was one thing that made 
me think that I was far from having that within me that 
accompanies salvation ; but if it was so with such a good man 
as he, why may it not also go well with me ? " 

James. " No fears, no grace," said James. " Though there 
is not always grace where there is the fear of hell, yet, to be 
sure, there is no grace where there is no fear of God." 

Great-heart. Well said, James, thou hast hit the mark, 
for the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom ; and, to be 
sure, they that want the beginning have neither middle nor 
end. But we will here conclude our discourse of Mr. Fear- 
ing after we have sent after him this farewell : 




MR. SELF-WILL. 



349 



'• Well, Master Fearing, thou didst fear 

Thy God ; and wast afraid 
Of doing anything, while here, 

That would have thee betray'd. 
And didst thou fear the Lake and Pit 1 

Would others did so too ; 
For, as for them that want thy wit, 

They do themselves undo." 



Now I saw that they still went on in their talk ; for after 
Mr. Great-heart had made an end with Mr. Fearing, Mr. 
Honest began to tell them of another, hut his name was Mr. 
Self-will. "He pretended himself to be a pilgrim," said Mr. 
Honest; "but I persuade myself he never came in at the gate 
that stands at the head of the way." 

Great-heart. Had you ever any talk with him about it ? 




350 self-will's detestable peinciples. 

Honest. Yes, more than once or twice; but he -would 
always be like himself, self-willed. He neither cared for man, 
nor argument, nor yet example ; what his mind prompted him 
to, that he would do, and nothing else could he be got to. 

Geeat-heaet. Pray, what principles did he hold, for I sup- 
pose you can tell ? 

Honest. He held that a man might follow the vices as well 
as the virtues of the pilgrims, and that if he did both, he 
should be certainly saved. 

Great-heaet. How ? If he had said, 'tis possible for the 
best to be guilty of the vices as well as to partake of the 
virtues of the pilgrims, he could not much a been blamed; 
for, indeed, we are exempted from no vice absolutely, but on 
condition that we watch and strive. But this I perceive is 
not the thing. But, if I understand you right, your meaning 
is, that he was of that opinion that it was allowable so to be. 

Honest. Ay, ay, so I mean, and so he believed and prac- 
tised. 

Geeat-heaet. But what ground had he for his so saying ? 

Honest. Why, he said he had the Scripture for his 
warrant. 

Geeat-heaet. Prithee, Mr. Honest, present us with a few 
particulars. 

Honest. So I will ; he said, to have to do with other men's 
wives had been practised by David, God's beloved, and there- 
fore he could do it. He said, to have more women than one 
was a thing that Solomon practised, and therefore he could 
do it. He said that Sarah and the godly midwives of Egypt 
lied, and so did save Rahab, and therefore he could do it. He 
said that the disciples went at the bidding of their Master, 
and took away the owner's ass, and therefore he could do so 
too. He said, that Jacob got the inheritance of his father in 
a way of guile and dissimulation, and therefore he could do 
so too. 

Geeat-heaet. High bass, indeed ! and you are sure he was 
of this opinion ? 

Honest. I have heard him plead for it, bring Scripture for 
it, bring argument for it, &c. 




Great-heart. An opinion that is not fit to be, with any 
allowance, in the world. 

Honest. Yon must "understand me rightly. He did not 
say that any man might do this ; but, that those that had the 
virtues of those that did such things, might also do the same. 

G-reat-heart. "But what more false than such a conclu- 
sion ? For this is as much as to say, that because good men 
heretofore have sinned of infirmity, therefore he had allow- 
ance to do it of a presumptuous mind. Or if becanse a child, 
by the blast of the wind, or for that it stumbled at a stone, 
fell down and defiled itself in mire, therefore he might wil- 
fully lie down and wallow like a boar therein. Who could a 
thought that any one conld so far a been blinded by the 
power of lust ? But what is written must be trne, ' They 
stumble at the Word, being disobedient, whereunto also they 
were appointed' (1 Pet. ii. 8). 

"His supposing that such may have the godly man's 
virtues who addict themselves to their vices, is also a de- 
lusion as strong as the other. Tis just as if the dog should 
say, I have, or may have, the qualities of the child, because I 
lick np its stinking excrements. To eat up the sin of God's 
people is no sign of one that is possessed with their virtues 
(Hos. iv. 8). JSTor can I believe that one that is of this 
opinion can at present have faith or love in him. But I know 
you have made strong objections against him ; prithee, what 
can he say for himself? " 



352 DELUSIONS OF FALSE PILGRIMS. ~ 

Honest. Why, lie says, "To do this by way of opinion, 
seems abundance more honest, than to do it, and yet hold 
contrary to it in opinion." 

Great-heart. A very wicked answer; for though to let 
loose the bridle to lusts while our opinions are against such 
things is bad, yet to sin, and plead a toleration so to do, is 
worse ; the one stumbles beholders accidentally, the other 
pleads them into the snare. 

Honest. There are many of this man's mind that have not 
this man's mouth ; and that makes going on pilgrimage of so 
little esteem as it is. 

G-reat-heart. You have said the truth, and it is to be 
lamented. But he that feareth the King of Paradise shall 
come out of them all. 

Chris. There are strange opinions in the world; I know 
one that said 'twas time enough to repent when they come to 
die. 

Great-heart. Such are not over wise. That man would a 
been loath, might he have had a week to run twenty mile in 
for his life, to have deferred that journey to the last hour of 
that week. 

Honest. " You say right ; and yet the generality of them 
that count themselves pilgrims, do indeed do thus. I am, as 
you see, an old man, and have been a traveller in this road 
many a day ; and I have taken notice of many things. 

" I have seen some that have set out as if they would drive 
all the world afore them, who yet have, in a few days, died 
as they in the wilderness, and so never gat sight of the pro- 
mised land. 

" I have seen some that have promised nothing at first 
setting out to be pilgrims, and that one would a thought 
could not have lived a day, that have yet proved very good 
pilgrims. 

" I have seen some that have run hastily forward, that 
again have, after a little time, run as fast just back again. 

" I have seen some who have spoke very well of a pilgrim's 
life at first, that, after a while, have spoken as much against 
it. 



V 






iHHH|b 




" I have heard Some, when they 
first set out for paradise, say posi- 
tively there is such a place, who, 
when they have been almost there, 
have come back again, and said 
there is none. 

" I have heard some vaunt what 
they would do in case they should 
be opposed, that have, even at a 
false alarm, fled faith, the pilgrim's 
way, and all." 

Now as they were thus in their 
way, there came one running to 
meet them, and said, " Gentlemen, 
and you of the weaker sort, if you 




z z 



354 



THE PILGRIMS HALT AT GAIUS' INN. 



love life, shift for yourselves, for the robbers are before 
you." 

Great-heart. Then said Mr. Great-heart, "They be the 
three that set upon Little-faith heretofore. Well," said he, 
" we are ready for them ; " so they went on their way. Now 
they looked at every turning when they should a met with 
the villains ; but whether they heard of Mr. Great-heart, or 
whether they had some other game, they came not up to the 
pilgrims. 

Christiana then wished for an inn for herself and her 
children, because they were weary. Then said Mr. Honest, 
" There is one a little before us, where a very honourable dis- 
ciple, one Gaius, dwells " (Rom. xvi. 23). So they all con- 
cluded to turn in thither; and the rather, because the old 
gentleman gave him so good a report. So when they came 
to the door, they went in, not knocking, for folks use not to 
knock at the door of an inn. Then they called for the master 




GAIUS INQUIRES CONCERNING CHRISTIANA. 355 

of the house, and he came to them. So they asked if they 
might lie there that night. 

Gaius. "Yes, gentlemen, if you be true men; for my house 
is for none but pilgrims." Then was Christiana, Mercy, and 
the boys the more glad, for that the innkeeper was a lover of 
pilgrims. So they called for rooms, and he shewed them one 
for Christiana and her children and Mercy, and another for 
Mr. Great-heart and the old gentleman. 

Great- heart. Then said Mr. Great-heart, " Good Gaius, 
what hast thou for supper ? for these pilgrims have come far 
to-day, and are weary." 

Gaius. " It is late," said Gaius, " so we cannot conveniently 
go out to seek food ; but such as we ha^e, you shall be wel- 
come to, if that will content." 

Great-heart. We will be content with what thou hast in 
the house ; for as much as I have proved thee, thou art never 
destitute of that which is convenient. 

Then he went down and spake to the cook, whose name 
was Taste-that- which-is-good, to get ready supper for so many 
pilgrims. This done, he comes up again, saying, " Come, my 
good friends, you are welcome to me, and I am glad that I 
have an house to entertain you ; and while supper is making 
ready, if you please, let us entertain one another with some 
good discourse." So they all said, " Content." 

Gaius. Then said Gaius, " Whose wife is this aged matron ? 
and whose daughter is this young damsel ? " 

Great-heart. The woman is the wife of one Christian, a 
pilgrim of former times, and these are his four children. The 
maid is one of her acquaintance, one that she hath persuaded 
to come with her on pilgrimage. The boys take all after their 
father, and covet to tread in his steps. Yea, if they do but 
see any place where the old pilgrim hath lain, or any print of 
his foot, it ministereth joy to their hearts, and they covet to 
lie or tread in the same. 

Gaius. Then said Gaius, " Is this Christian's wife, and are 
these Christian's children? I knew your husband's father, 
yea, also, his father's father. Many have been good of this 
stock ; their ancestors dwelt first at Antioch (Acts xi. 26). 




Christian's progenitors (I suppose you nave heard your hus- 
band talk of them) were very worthy men. They have, above 
any that I know, shewed themselves men of great virtue and 
courage for the Lord of the pilgrims, his ways, and them that 
loved him. I have heard of many of your husband's relations 
that have stood all trials for the sake of the truth. Stephen, 
that was one of the first of the family from whence your hus- 
band sprang, was knocked o' th' head with stones (Acts vii. 
59, 60). James, another of this generation, was slain with 
the edge of the sword (Acts xii. 2). To say nothing of Paul 
and Peter, "men anciently of the family from whence your 
husband came. There was Ignatius, who was cast to the 
lions; Komanus, whose flesh was cut by pieces from his bones; 



GAIUS CONVERSES WITH HIS GUESTS. 



357 



and Polycarp, that played the man in the fire. There was he 
that was hanged up in a basket in the sun, for the wasps to 
eat j and he who they put into a sack, and cast him into the 
sea, to be drowned. 'Twould be impossible utterly to count 
up all of that family that have suffered injuries and death for 
the love of a pilgrim's life. Nor can I but be glad to see that 
thy husband has left behind him four such boys as these. I 
hope they will bear up their father's name, and tread in their 
father's steps, and come to their father's end." 

Great-heart. Indeed, sir, they are likely lads ; they seem 
to choose heartily their father's ways. 

Gaius. That is it that I said, wherefore Christian's family 
is like still to spread abroad upon the face of the ground, and 
yet to be numerous upon the face of the earth. Wherefore 
let Christiana look out some damsels for her sons, to whom 
they may be betrothed, &c., that the name of their father, and 
the house of his progenitors, may never be forgotten in the 
world. 

Honest. 'Tis pity this family should fall, and be extinct. 

Gaius. " Fall it cannot, but be diminished it may ; but let 




358 GAIUS SPEAKS IN BEHALF OP WOMEN. 

Christiana take my advice, and that's the way to uphold it. 
And, Christiana," said this innkeeper, " I am glad to see thee 
and thy friend Mercy together here, a lovely couple. And 
may I advise, take Mercy into a nearer relation to thee. If 
she will, let her be given to Matthew, thy eldest son. 'Tis 
the way to preserve yon a posterity in the earth." So this 
match was concluded, and in process of time they were mar- 
ried. But more of that hereafter. 

Gaius also proceeded, and said, " I will now speak on the 
behalf of women, to take away their reproach. For as death 
and the curse came into the world by a woman, so also did 
life and health : ' God sent forth His son made of a woman ' 
(Gen. iii. ; Gal. iv. 4). Tea, to shew how much those that 
came after did abhor the act of their mother, this sex, in the 
Old Testament, coveted children, if happily this or that woman 
might be the mother of the Saviour of the world. I will say 
again, that when the Saviour was come, women rejoiced in 
Him before either man or angel (Luke ii.). I read not that 
ever any man did give unto Christ so much as one groat ; but 
the women followed Him, and ministered to Him of their 
substance. 'Twas a woman that washed His feet with tears, 
and a woman that anointed His body to the burial. They 
were women that wept when He was going to the cross ; and 
women that followed Him from the cross, and that sat by 
His sepulchre when He was buried. They were women that 
was first with Him at His resurrection-morn, and women that 
brought tiding first to His disciples that He was risen from 
the dead.* "Women, therefore, are highly favoured; and 
shew by these things that they are sharers with us in the 
grace of life." 

Now the cook sent up to signify that supper was almost 
ready ; and sent one to lay the cloth, the trenchers, and to 
set the salt and bread in order. 

Then said Matthew, " The sight of this cloth, and of this 
forerunner of a supper, begetteth in me a greater appetite to 
my food than I had before." 

* Luke vii. 37-50; viii. 2, 3; xxiii. 27; xxiv. 22, 23; John ii. 3; xi. 2; 
Matt. xvii. 55-61. 




Gaius. So let all ministering doctrines to thee in this life 
beget in thee a greater desire to sit at the supper of the great 
King in His kingdom; for all preaching, books, and ordi- 
nances here, are but as the laying of the trenchers, and as 
setting of salt upon the board, when compared with the 
feast that our Lord will make for us when we come to His 
house. 

So supper came up, and first a heave-shoulder and a wave- 
breast was set on the table before them, to shew that they 
must begin their meal with prayer and praise to God.* The 



Levit. vii. 32-34; x. 14, 15; Psalm xxv. 1; Heb. xiii. 15. 



360 THE PILGRIMS SIT DOWN TO SUPPEE. 

lieave- shoulder David lifted his heart up to God with, and 
with the wave-breast, where his heart lay, with that he used 
to lean upon his harp when he played. These two dishes 
were very fresh and good, and they all eat heartily well 
thereof. 

The next they brought up was a bottle of wine, red as 
blood. So Graius said to them, " Drink freely : this is the 
juice of the true vine, that makes glad the heart of Grod and 
man." So they drank and were merry.* 

The next was a dish of milk well crumbed. But Graius 
said, " Let the boys have that, that they may grow thereby " 
(1 Pet. ii. 1, 2). 

Then they brought up in course a dish of butter and honey. 
Then said Graius, " Eat freely of this, for this is good to cheer 
up and strengthen your judgments and understandings. This 
was our Lord's dish when He was a child : ' Butter and honey 
shall He eat, that He may know to refuse the evil, and choose 
the good'" (Isa. vii. 15). 

Then they brought them up a dish of apples, and they 
were very good tasted fruit. Then said Matthew, " May we 
eat apples, since they were such by and with which the ser- 
pent beguiled our first mother ? " 

* Deut. xxxii. 14; Judges ix. 13; John xv. 1. 





Then said Gains : 



1 Apples were they with which we were beguiled, 
Yet sin, not apples, hath our souls defiled. 
Apples forbid, if eat, corrupts the blood ; 
To eat such, when commanded, does us good. 
Drink of His flagons, then, thou Church, His dove, 
And eat His apples, who are sick of love." 



Then said Matthew, " I made the scruple, because I, a 
while since, was sick with eating of fruit." 

GUius. Forbidden fruit will make you sick, but not what 
our Lord has tolerated. 

While they were thus talking, they were presented with 
another dish, and 'twas a dish of nuts (Song vi. 11). Then 
said some at the table, " Nuts spoil tender teeth, specially the 
teeth of children." Which, when Gaius heard, he said : 



: Hard texts are nuts (I will not call them cheaters), 
Whose shells do keep their kernels from the eaters. 
Ope, then, the shells, and you shall have the meat,- 
They here are brought for you to crack and eat." 



Then were they very merry, and sat at the table a long time, 
talking of many things. Then said the old gentleman, " My 
good landlord, while we are cracking your nuts, if you please, 
do you open this riddle : 

3 A 



362 MATTHEW AND MERCY AEE MARRIED. 

' ' A man there was, though some did count him mad, 
The more he cast away, the more he had." 

Then they all gave good heed, wondering what good Gams 
wonld say ; so he sat still awhile, and then thus replied : 

" He that bestows his goods upon the poor, 
Shall have as much again, and ten times more." 



Then said Joseph, "I dare say, sir, I did not think you 
could a found it out." 

"Oh," said Graius, "I have been trained up in this way a 
great while. Nothing teaches like experience ; I have learned 
of my Lord to be kind, and have found by experience that I 
have gained thereby. ' There is that scattereth, yet increaseth ; 
and there is than withholdeth more that is meet, but it tendeth 
to poverty.' ' There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath 
nothing ; there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great 
riches ' " (Prov. xi. 24 ; xiii. 7). 

Then Samuel whispered to Christiana his mother, and said, 
" Mother, this is a very good man's house ; let us stay here a 
good while, and let my brother Matthew be married here to 
Mercy, before we go any farther." 







GEE AT-HE ART'S RIDDLE. 363 

The which, Gaius the host overhearing, said, " With a very 
good will, my child." 

So they stayed there more than a month, and Mercy was 
given to Matthew to wife. 

While they stayed here, Mercy, as her custom was, would 
be making coats and garments to give to the poor, by which 
she brought up a very good report upon the pilgrims. 

But to return again to our story. After supper, the lads 
desired a bed, for that they were weary with travelling. 
Then Gaius called to shew them their chamber ; but said 
Mercy, " I will have them to bed." So she had them to 
bed, and they slept well, but the rest sat up all night , for 
Gaius and they were such suitable company, that they could 
not tell how to part. Then, after much talk of their Lord, 
themselves, and their journey, old Mr. Honest, he that put 
forth the riddle to Gaius, began to nod. Then said Great- 
heart, " What, sir ! you begin to be drowsy ; come, rub up ; 
now here's a riddle for you." Then .said Mr. Honest, " Let's 
hear it." 

Then said Mr. Great-heart, 

" He that will kill, must first be overcome ; 
Who live abroad would, first must die at home." 

" Ha," said Mr. Honest, " it is a hard one, hard to expound, 
and harder to practise. But come, landlord," said he, "I 
will, if you please, leave my part to you ; do you expound it, 
and I will hear what you say." 

"ISTo," said Gaius; "'twas put to you, and 'tis expected 
that you should answer it." 

Then said the old gentleman : 

" He first by grace must conquer'd be 
That sin would mortify; 
And who that lives would convince me, 
Unto himself must die." 

"It is right," said Gaius ; " good doctrine and experience 
teaches this. For, first, until grace displays itself, and over- 




comes the soul witli its glory, it is altogether without heart to 
oppose sin. Besides, if sin is Satan's cords, by which the 
soul lies bound, how should it make resistance before it is 
loosed from that infirmity ? 

" 2dly. Nor will any that knows either reason or grace 
believe that such a man can be a living monument of grace 
that is a slave to his own corruptions. 

" And now it comes in my mind, I will till you a story 
worth the hearing. There were two men that went on 
pilgrimage, the one began when he was young, the other 
when he was old. The young man had strong corruptions to 
grapple with, the old man's were decayed with the decays of 
nature. The young man trod his steps as even as did the old 
one, and was every way as light as he ; who now, or which of 
them, had their graces shining clearest, since both seemed to 
be alike ? " 

Honest. " The young man's, doubtless. For that which 






ANOTHER QUESTION PROPOSED. 



365 



heads it against the greatest opposition, gives best demon- 
stration that it is strongest : specially when it also holdeth 
pace with that that meets not with half so much ; as, to be 
sure, old age does not. 

" Besides, I have observed that old men have blessed them- 
selves with this mistake ; namely, taking the decays of nature 
for a gracious conquest over corruptions, and so have been 
apt to beguile themselves. Indeed, old men that are gracious, 
are best able to give advice to them that are young, because 
they have seen most of the emptiness of things. But yet, 
for an old and a young to set out both together, the young 
one has the advantage of the fairest discovery of a work of 
grace within him, though the old man's corruptions are 
naturally the weakest." 

Thus they sat talking till break of day. Now when the 
family was up, Christiana bid her son James that he should 
read a chapter ; so he read the 53d of Isaiah. When he had 
done, Mr. Honest asked why it was said, " That the Saviour 




366 GIANT SLAT-GOOD. 

is said to come out of a dry ground, and also that he had no 
form nor comeliness in Him ? " 

Great-heart. Then said Mr. Great-heart, "To the first I 
answer, because the Church of the Jews, of which Christ 
came, had then lost almost all the sap and spirit of religion. 
To the second I say, the words are spoken in. the person of 
the unbelievers, who, because they want that eye that can see 
into our Prince's heart, therefore they judge of Him by the 
meanness of His outside. 

" Just like those that know not that precious stones are 
covered over with a homely crust; who, when they have 
found one, because they know not what they have found, 
cast it again away, as men do a common stone." 

"Well," said Gaius, "now you are here, and since, as I 
know, Mr. Great-heart is good at his weapons, if you please, 
after we have refreshed ourselves, we will walk into the 
fields, to see if we can do any good. About a mile from 
hence there is one Slay-good, a giant that doth much annoy 
the King's highway in these parts. And I know whereabout 
his haunt is : he is master of a number of thieves ; 'twould 
be well if we could clear these parts of him." 

So they consented and went, Mr. Great-heart with his 
sword, helmet, and shield, and the rest with spears and 
staves. 

When they came to the place where he was, they found 
him with one Feeble-mind in his hands, whom his servants 
had brought unto him, having taken him in the way ; now 
the giant was rifling of him, with a purpose, after that, to 
pick his bones ; for he was of the nature of flesh-eaters. 

Well, so soon as he saw Mr. Great-heart and his friends 
at the mouth of his cave with their weapons, he demanded 
what they wanted. 

Great-heart. " We want thee ; for we are come to revenge 
the quarrel of the many that thou hast slain of the pilgrims, 
when thou hast dragged them out of the King's high- way ; 
wherefore, come out of thy cave." So he armed himself and 
came out, and to a battle they went, and fought for above an 
hour, and then stood still to take wind. 




tiii 



>■ 



Slat-good. Then said the giant, " Why are yon here on my 
gronnd ? " 

Geeat-heaet. " To revenge the blood of pilgrims, as I also 
told thee before." So they went to it again, and the 
giant made Mr. Great-heart give back, bnt he came np again, 
and in the greatness of his mind, he let fly with snch stont- 
ness at the giant's head and sides, that he made him let his 



868 feeble-mind's account of himself. 

weapon fall out of Ms hand. So lie smote him and slew him, 
and cut off his head, and brought it away to the inn. He also 
took Feeble-mind the pilgrim, and brought him. with him 
to his lodgings. When they were come home, they shewed his 
head to the family, and then set it up as they had done others 
before, for a terror to those that should attempt to do as he 
hereafter. 

Then they asked Mr. Feeble-mind how he fell into his 
hands. 

Feeble-mind. Then said the poor man, " I am a sickly 
man, as you see, and because death did usually, once a day, 
knock at my door, I thought I should never be well at home. 
So I betook myself to a pilgrim's life ; and have travelled 
hither from the town of Uncertain, where I and my father 
were born. I am a man of no strength at all, of body, nor 
yet of mind, but would, if I could, though I can but crawl, 
spend my life in the pilgrim's way. When I came at the gate 
that is at the head of the way, the Lord of the place did enter- 
tain me freely. Neither objected he against my weakly looks, 
nor against my feeble mind ; but gave me such things that were 
necessary for my journey, and bid me hope to the end. When 
I came to the house of the Interpreter, I received much kind- 
ness there ; and because the hill Difficulty was judged too 
hard for me, I was carried up that by one of his servants. 
Indeed, I have found much relief from pilgrims, though none 
was willing to go so softly as I am forced to do. Yet still, as 
they came on, they bid me be of good cheer, and said, that it 
was the will of their Lord that comfort should be given to 
the feeble-minded, and so went on their own pace (1 Thes. v. 
14). When I was come up to Assault Lane, then this giant 
met with me, and bid me prepare for an encounter ; but alas, 
feeble one that I was, I had more need of a cordial. So he 
came up and took me. I conceited he should not kill me ; 
also when he had got me into his den, since I went not with 
him willingly, I believed I should come out alive again. For 
I have heard, that not any pilgrim that is taken captive by 
violent hands, if he keeps heart-whole towards his master, is, 
by the laws of Providence, to die by the hand of the enemy. 



FEEBLE-MIND CONTINUES HIS NAEEATIYE. 



369 



Robbed, I looked to be, and robbed to be sure I am ; but I am, 
as you see, escaped with, life, for the which I thank my King 
as author, and you as the means. Other brunts I also look 
for ; but this I have resolved on, to wit, to run when I can, 
to go when I cannot run, and to creep when I cannot go. As 
to the main, I thank Him that loves me, I am fixed; my way 
is before me, my mind is beyond the river that has no bridge, 
though I am, as you see, but of a feeble mind." 

Honest. Then said old Mr. Honest, " Have not you, some 
time ago, been acquainted with one Mr. Fearing, a pilgrim?" 

Feeble-mind. Acquainted with him ! yes. He came from 
the town of Stupidity, which lieth four degrees to the north- 
ward of the city of Destruction, and as many off of where I 
was born ; yet we were well acquainted, for indeed he was 







3 B 



370 NOT-RIGHT STRUCK DEAD BY LIGHTNING. 

mine uncle, my father's brother ; he and I have been much of 
a temper; he was a little shorter than I, but yet we were 
much of a complexion. 

Honest. I perceive you know him, and I am apt to believe 
also that you were related one to another ; for you have his 
whitely look, a cast like his with your eye, and your speech 
is much alike. 

Feeble-mind. Most have said so that have known us both ; 
and besides, what I have read in him, I have for the most 
part found in myself. 

Gaius. " Come, sir," said good Gaius, " be of good cheer, 
you are welcome to me and to my house ; and what thou 
hast a mind to, call for freely; and what thou wouldst 
have my servants do for thee, they will do it with a ready 
mind." 

Feeble-mind. Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, " This is unex- 
pected favour, and as the sun shining out of a very dark 
cloud. Did giant Slay-good intend me this favour when he 
stopped me, and resolved to let me go no farther ? Did he 
intend that after he had rifled my pockets, I should go to 
Gaius mine host ? Yet so it is." 

Now, just as Mr. Feeble-mind and Gaius was thus in talk, 
there comes one running, and called at the door, and told, that 
about a mile and a half off there was one Mr. Not-right, a 
pilgrim, struck dead upon the place where he was with a 
thunderbolt. 

Feeble-mind. " Alas !" said Mr. Feeble-mind, "is he slain? 
he overtook me some days before I came so far as hither, and 
would be my company-keeper. He also was with me when 
Slay-good the giant took me, but he was nimble of his heels, 
and escaped. But it seems he escaped to die, and I was took 
to live. 

"What, one would think, doth seek to slay outright, 
Ofttimes delivers from the saddest plight. 
That very Providence, whose face is death, 
Doth ofttimes to the lowly life bequeath. 
I taken was, he did escape and flee, 
Hands crost gives death to him and life to me." 



, /MMiA .». 




Now about this time Matthew and Mercy were married; 
also Gains gave his daughter Phoebe to James, Matthew's 
brother, to wife ; after which time, they yet stayed above ten 
days at Gains' s honse, spending their time and the seasons 
like as pilgrims nse to do. 

When they were to depart, Gains made them a feast, and 
they did eat and drink, and were merry. Now the honr was 
come that they mnst be gone, wherefore Mr. Great-heart 
called for a reckoning. Bnt Gains told him that at his honse 
it was not the cnstom for pilgrims to pay for their entertain- 
ment. He boarded them by the year, bnt looked for his pay 
from the good Samaritan, who had promised him, at his 
return, whatsoever charge he was at with them faithfully to 
repay him (Luke x. 33-35). Then said Mr. Great-heart to 
him: 

Geeat-heaet. Beloved, thou dost faithfully; whatsoever 
thou dost to the brethren and to strangers which have borne 



372 THE PILGEIMS TAKE LEAVE OF GAIUS. 

witness of thy charity before the Church, whom if thou (yet) 
bring forward on their journey after a godly sort, thou shalt 
do well (3 John, 5, 6). 

Then Gaius took his leave of them all, and of his children, 
and particularly of Mr. Feeble-mind. He also gave him 
something to drink by the way. 

Now Mr. Feeble-mind, when they were going out of the 
door, made as if he intended to linger. The which when Mr. 
Great-heart espied, he said, " Come, Mr. Feeble-mind, pray 
do you go along with us, I will be your conductor, and you 
shall fare as the rest." 

Feeble-mind. Alas, I want a suitable companion ; you are 
all lusty and strong, but I, as you see, am weak ; I choose, 
therefore, rather to come behind, lest, by reason of my many 
infirmities, I should be both a burden to myself and to you. 
I am, as I said, a man of a weak and feeble mind, and shall 
be offended and made weak at that which others can bear. I 
shall like no laughing ; I shall like no gay attire ; I shall like 
no unprofitable questions. Nay, I am so weak a man, as to 
be offended with that which others have a liberty to do. I do 
not yet know all the truth ; I am a very ignorant Christian 
man; sometimes, if I hear some rejoice in the Lord, it 
troubles me because I cannot do so too. It is with me as it 
is with a weak man among the strong, or as with a sick man 
among the healthy, or as a lamp despised. ("He that is 
ready to slip with his feet, is as a lamp despised in the thought 
of him that is at ease." Job xii. 5.) So that I know not 
what to do. 

Great-heart. " But, brother," said Mr. Great-heart, " I 
have it in commission to comfort the feeble-minded and to 
support the weak. You must needs go along with us ; we 
will wait for you, we will lend you our help, we will deny 
ourselves of somG things, both opinionative and practical, for 
your sake ; we will not enter into doubtful disputations before 
you, we will be made all things to you rather than you shall 
be left behind" (Rom. xiv.; 1 Cor. viii. ix. 22). 

Now all this while they were at Gaius's door ; and behold, 
as they were thus in the heat of their discourse, Mr. Ready- 



MS. READY-TO-HALT JOINS THEM. 



373 



to-halt came by with his crutches in his hand, and he also 
was going on pilgrimage (Ps. xxxviii. 17). 

Feeble-mind. Then said Mr. Feeble-mind to him, " Man, 
how earnest thou hither ? I was but just now complaining 
that I had not a suitable companion, but thou art according 
to my wish. Welcome, welcome, good Mr. Ready-to-halt ; I 
hope thee and I may be some help." 

Ready-to-halt. " I shall be glad of thy company," said the 
other ; " and, good Mr. Feeble-mind, rather than we will part, 
since we are thus happily met, I will lend thee one of my 
crutches." 

Feeble-mind. "Kay," said he, "though I thank thee for 
thy good will, I am not inclined to halt before I am lame. 
Howbeit, I think, when occasion is, it may help me against 



Ready-to-halt. If either myself or my crutches can do 
thee a pleasure, we are both at thy command, good Mr. 
Feeble-mind. 

Thus, therefore, they went on ; Mr. Great-heart and Mr. 
Honest went before, Christiana and her children went next, 
and Mr. Feeble-mind and Mr. Ready-to-halt came behind 
with his crutches. Then said Mr. Honest: 




374 



GREAT-HEART TELLS OF CHRISTIAN S EXPERIENCE. 



Honest. Pray, sir, now we are upon the road, tell us some 
profitable things of some that have gone on pilgrimage before 
us. 

Great-heart. With a good will. I suppose you have heard 
how Christian of old did meet with Apollyon in the Valley of 
Humiliation, and also what hard work he had to go through 
the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Also, I think, you 
cannot but have heard how Faithful was put to it with 
Madam "Wanton, with Adam the first, with one Discontent, 
and Shame ; four as deceitful villains as a man can meet with 
upon the road. 

Honest. Yes, I have heard of all this ; but, indeed, good 
Faithful was hardest put to it with Shame j he was an un- 
wearied one. 

Great- heart. Ay, for as the pilgrim well said, " He of all 
men had the wrong name." 

Honest. But pray, sir, where was it that Christian and 
Faithful met Talkative ? that same was also a notable one. 

Great-heart. He was a confident fool, yet many follow his 
ways. 

Honest. He had like to a beguiled Faithful. 

Great-heart. Ay, but Christian put him into a way quickly 
to find him out. 

Thus they went on till they came at the place where Evan- 




THEY COME WITHIN SIGHT OF VANITY. 375 

gelist met with Christian and Faithful, and prophesied to 
them of what should befall them at Vanity Fair. 

Great-heart. Then said their guide, "Hereabouts did 
Christian and Faithful meet with Evangelist, who prophesied 
to them of what troubles they should meet with at Yanity 
Fair." 

Honest. Say you so ? I dare say it was a hard chapter that 
then he did read unto them ! 

Great-heart. 'Twas so ; but he gave them encouragement 
withal. But what do we talk of them ; they were a couple of 
lion-like men ; they had set their faces like flint. Don't you 
remember how undaunted they were when they stood before 
the judge ? 

Honest. Well, Faithful bravely suffered. 

Great- heart. So he did; and as brave things came on't; 
for Hopeful and some others, as the story relates it, were 
converted by his death. 

Honest. Well, but pray go on ; for you are well acquainted 
with things. 

Great-heart. Above all that Christian met with after he 
had past through Vanity Fair, one By-ends was the arch one. 

Honest. By-ends ! what was he ? 

Great-heart. A very arch fellow, a downright hypocrite ; 
one that would be religious which way ever the world went : 
but so cunning, that he would be sure neither to lose nor 
suffer for it. He had his mode of religion for every fresh 
occasion ; and his wife was as good at it as he. He would 
turn and change from opinion to opinion ; yea, and plead for 
so doing too. But so far as I could learn, he came to an ill 
end with his by-ends ; nor did I ever hear that any of his 
children were ever of any esteem with any that truly feared 
God. 

Now by this time they were come within sight of the town 
of Vanity, where Vanity Fair is kept. So when they saw 
that they were so near the town, they consulted with one 
another how they should pass through the town; and some 
said one thing and some another. At last Mr. Great-heart 
said, " I have, as you may understand, often been a conductor 




ill 



'P't-'m jii',T|||i \M! ivi'V! & "■ !i ..i' ' i ■- 

« 3 ki'lJllv .fiftifi 




■<>■■■■]■' ".■«.■■ 

it 



of pilgrims through this town ; now I am acquainted with 
one Mr. Mnason, a Cyprusian by nation, an old disciple, at 
whose house we may lodge. If yon think good," said he, " we 
will tnrn in there." 

"Content," said old Honest; " Content," said Christiana; 
" Content," said Mr. Feeble-mind ; and so they said all. Now 
yon must think it was even-tide by that they got to the out- 



THEY ARE WELCOMED TO MNASON'S HOUSE. 377 

side of the town, but Mr. Great-heart knew the way to the 
old man's house. So thither they came ; and he called at the 
door, and the old man within knew his tongue so soon as ever 
he heard it ; so he opened, and they all came in. Then said 
Mnason their host, " How far have ye come to day ? " So 
they said, "From the house of Gaius our friend." "I promise 
you," said he, "you have gone a good stitch; you may well 
be a weary; sit down." So they sat down. 

Great-he art. Then said their guide, " Come, what cheer, 
sirs ? I dare say you are welcome to my friend." 

Mnason. " I also," said Mr. Mnason, " do bid you welcome ; 
and whatever you want, do but say, and we will do what we 
can to get it for you." 

Honest. Our great want, awhile since, was harbour and 
good company ; and now I hope we have both. 

Mnason. For harbour, you see what it is; but for good 
company, that will appear in the trial. 

Great-heart. "Well," said Mr, Great-heart, "will you 
have the pilgrims up into their lodging? " 

Mnason. "I will," said Mr. Mnason. 

So he had them to their respective places ; and also shewed 
them a very fair dining-room, where they might be and sup 
together, until time was come to go to rest. 

Now when they were set in their places, and were a little 
cheery after their journey, Mr. Honest asked his landlord, if 
there were any store of good people in the town. 

Mnason. We have a few ; for indeed they are but a few 
when compared with them on the other side. 

Honest. But how shall we do to see some of them? for 
the sight of good men to them that are going on pilgrimage 
is like to the appearing of the moon and the stars to them 
that are sailing upon the seas. 

Mnason. Then Mr. Mnason stamped with his foot, and his 
daughter Grace came up ; so he said unto her, " Grace, go 
you, tell my friends, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holy-man, Mr. Love- 
saint, Mr. Dare-not-lie, and Mr. Penitent, that I have a friend 
or two at my house that have a mind this evening to see 
them." 

3 o 



378 THEY ARE VISITED BY SOME OP MNASON'S FRIENDS. 



So Grace went to call them, and they came, and, after 
salutation made, they sat down together at the table. 

Then said Mr. Mnason, their landlord, " My neighbours, 
I have, as you see, a company of strangers come to my house; 
they are pilgrims, they come from afar, and are going to 
Mount Zion. But who," quoth he, " do you think this is 
(pointing with his finger to Christiana) ? It is Christiana, 
the wife of Christian, that famous pilgrim, who, with Faith- 
ful his brother, were so shamefully handled in our town." At 
that they stood amazed, saying, " We little thought to see 
Christiana, when Grace came to call us ; wherefore this is a 
very comfortable surprise." Then they asked her of her wel- 
fare, and if these young men were her husband's sons. And 
when she had told them they were, they said, " The King 
whom you love and serve make you as your father, and bring 
you where he is in peace." 

Then Mr. Honest (when they were all sat down) asked 
Mr. Contrite and the rest, in what posture their town was 
at present. 

Contrite. You may be sure we are 
full of hurry in fair- time. 'Tis hard 
keeping our hearts and spirits in any 
good order when we are in a cumbered 
condition. He that lives in such a place 
as this is, and that has to do with such 
as we have, has need of an item, to 
caution him to take heed, every moment 
of the day. 

Honest. But how are your neighbours 
for quietness ? 

Contrite. They are much more mode- 
rate now than formerly. You know how 
Christian and Faithful were used at our 
town ; but of late, I say, they have been 
far more moderate. I think the blood of 
Faithful lieth with load upon them till 
now ; for since they burned him, they 
have been ashamed to burn any more. In 








'"-:-, 



im ' '"" |,|1,! w i 1 * 1 : w" 11 " i " |f , 

1 ' ■""■' - ■ 'I m> 




those days we were afraid to walk tlie streets ; but now we 
can shew our heads. Then the name of a professor was 
odious ; now, specially in some parts of our town (for you 
know our town is large), religion is counted honourable. 

Then said Mr. Contrite to them, " Pray how fareth it with 
you in your pilgrimage ? how stands the country affected 
towards you ? " 

Honest. It happens to us as it happeneth to wayfaring 
men ; sometimes our way is clean, sometimes foul ; sometimes 
up hill, sometimes down hill : we are seldom at a certainty. 
The wind is not always on our backs, nor is every one a 
friend that we meet with in the way. We have met with 
some notable rubs already ; and what are yet behind we know 
not; but, for the most part, we find it true that has been 
talked of old: "A good man must suffer trouble." 

Contrite. You talk of rubs; what rubs have you met 
withal ? 



380 GREAT-HEART EELATES THEIR ADVENTURES. 

Honest. Nay, ask Mr. Great-heart, our guide ; for he can 
give the best account of that. 

Great- heart. We have been beset three or four times 
already: first, Christiana and her children were beset with 
two ruffians, that they feared would a took away their lives ; 
we was beset with Giant Bloody-man, Giant Maul, and Giant 
Slay-good; indeed we did rather beset the last than were 
beset of him. And thus it was : after we had been some 
time at the house of Gaius, mine host, and of the whole 
Church, we were minded upon a time to take our weapons 
with us, and so go see if we could light upon any of those 
that were enemies to pilgrims ; for we heard that there was 
a notable one thereabouts. Now Gaius knew his haunt 
better than I, because he dwelt thereabout ; so we looked and 
looked, till at last we discerned the mouth of his cave ; then 
we were glad, and plucked up our spirits. So we approached 
up to his den ; and lo, when we came there, he had dragged 
by mere force into his net this poor man, Mr. Feeble-mind, 
and was about to bring him to his end. But when he saw 
us, supposing, as we thought, he had had another prey, he left 
the poor man in his hole, and came out. So we fell to it full 
sore, and he lustily laid about him ; but in conclusion, he was 
brought down to the ground, and his head cut off, and set up 
by the wayside for a terror to such as should after practise 
such ungodliness. That I tell you the truth, here is the man 
himself to affirm it, who was as a lamb taken out of the 
mouth of the lion. 

Feeble-mind. Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, "I found this 
true to my cost and comfort ; to my cost, when he threatened 
to pick my bones every moment ; and to my comfort, when 
I saw Mr. Great-heart and his friends with their weapons 
approach so near for my deliverance." 

Holy-man. Then said Mr. Holy-man, " There are two things 
that they have need to be possessed with that go on pilgrimage 
— courage and an unspotted life. If they have not courage, 
they can never hold on their way ; and if their lives be loose, 
they will make the very name of a pilgrim stink." 

Love- saint. Then said Mr. Love- saint, " I hope this caution 



SAMUEL AND JOSEPH'S MARRIAGES. 



381 



is not needful amongst yon. But truly there are many that go 
upon the road that rather declare themselves strangers to pil- 
grimage, than strangers and pilgrims in the earth." 

Dare-not- lie. Then said Mr. Dare-not lie, " 'Tis true, they 
neither have the pilgrim's weed, nor the pilgrim's courage ; 
they go not uprightly, but all awry with their feet, — one shoe 
goes inward, another outward, and their hosen out behind ; 
there a rag and there a rent, to the disparagement of their 
Lord." 

Penitent. " These things," said Mr. Penitent, " they ought 




to be troubled for ; nor are the pilgrims like to have that grace 
put upon them and their pilgrim's progress as they desire, 
until the way is cleared of such spots and blemishes." 

Thus they sat talking and spending the time, until supper 
was set upon the table, unto which they went and refreshed 
their weary bodies : so they went to rest. Now they stayed 
in this fair a great while, at the house of this Mr. Mnason, 
who, in process of time, gave his daughter Grace unto 
Samuel, Christiana's son, to wife ; and his daughter Martha 
to Joseph. 

The time, as I said, that they lay here was long (for it was 
not now as in former times). Wherefore the pilgrims grew 
acquainted with many of the good people of the town, and 
did them what service they could. Mercy, as she was wont, 
laboured much for the poor, wherefore their bellies and backs 
blessed her, and she was there an ornament to her profession. 



382 THEY HEAE OP A MONSTEE IN THOSE PAETS* 

And to say the truth for Grace, Phoebe, and Martha, they 
were all of a very good nature, and did much good in their 
place. They were also all of them very fruitful, so that 
Christian's name, as was said before, was like to live in the 
world. 

While they lay here, there came a monster out of the woods, 
and slew many of the people of the town. It would also carry 
away their children, and teach them to suck its whelps. Now 
no man in the town durst so much as face this monster ; but 
all men fled when they heard of the noise of his coming. 

The monster was like unto no one beast upon the earth. 
Its body was like a dragon, and it had seven heads and ten 
horns (Rev. xii. 3). It made great havoc of children, and 
yet it was governed by a woman. This monster propounded 
conditions to men ; and such men as loved their lives more 
than their souls accepted of those conditions. So they came 
under. 

Now this Mr. Great-heart, together with these that came to 
visit the pilgrims at Mr. Mnason's house, entered into a cove- 
nant to go and engage this beast, if perhaps they might deliver 
the people of this town from the* paws and mouths of this so 
devouring a serpent. 

Then did Mr. Great-heart, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holy-man, Mr. 
Dare-not-lie, and Mr. Penitent, with their weapons, go forth 
to meet him. Now the monster at first was very rampant, 
and looked upon these enemies with great disdain ; but they 
so belaboured him, being sturdy men at arms, that they made 
him make a retreat; so they came home to Mr. Mnason's 
house again. 

The monster, you must know, had his certain seasons to 
come out in, and to make his attempts upon the children of 
the people of the town ; also these seasons did these valiant 
worthies watch him in, and did still continually assault him ; 
insomuch that, in process of time, he became not only 
wounded, but lame ; also he has not made that havoc of the 
townsmen's children as formerly he has done. And it is 
verily believed by some, that this beast will die of his 
wounds. 




This, therefore, made Mr. Great-heart and his fellows of 
great fame in this town ; so that many of the people that 
wanted their taste of things, yet had a reverent esteem and 
respect for them. Upon this account, therefore, it was that 
these pilgrims got not much hurt here. True, there were some 



384 THEY AGAIN SET FORWARD. 

of the baser sort, that could see no more than a mole, nor 
understand more than a beast; these had no reverence for 
these men, nor took they notice of their valour or adven- 
tures. 

Well, the time grew on that the pilgrims must go on their 
way, wherefore they prepared for their journey. They sent 
for their friends, they conferred with them, they had some 
time set apart, therein to commit each other to the protection 
of their Prince. There was again that brought them of such 
things as they had, that was fit for the weak and the strong, 
for the women and the men ; and so laded them with such 
things as was necessary (Acts xxviii. 10). 

Then they set forwards on their way; and their friends 
accompanying them so far as was convenient, they again 
committed each other to the protection of their King, and 
parted. 

They therefore that were of the pilgrims' company went 
on, and Mr. Great-heart went before them. Now the women 
and children being weakly, they were forced to go as they 
could bear ; by this means Mr. Ready-to-halt and Mr. Feeble- 
mind had more to sympathise with their condition. 

When they were gone from the townsmen, and when their 
friends had bid them farewell, they quickly came to the place 
where Faithful was put to death. There, therefore, they 
made a stand, and thanked Him that had enabled him to bear 
his cross so well; and the rather, because they now found 
that they had a benefit by such a manly suffering as his was. 

They went on, therefore, after this, a good way further, 
talking of Christian and Faithful, and how Hopeful joined 
himself to Christian after that Faithful was dead. 

Now they were come up with the Hill Lucre ; where the 
silver-mine was which took Demas off from his pilgrimage, 
and into which, as some think, By-ends fell and perished ; 
wherefore they considered that. But when they were come 
to the old monument that stood over against the Hill Lucre, 
to wit, to the pillar of salt that stood also within view of 
Sodom and its stinking lake, they marvelled, as did Christian 
before, that men of that knowledge and ripeness of wit, as 




ShKS 












they was, should be so blinded as to turn aside here. Only 
they considered again, that nature is not affected with the 
harms that others have met with, specially if that thing upon 
which they look has an attracting virtue upon the foolish eye. 

I saw now that they went on till they came at the river 
that was on this side of the Delectable Mountains, to the 
river where the fine trees grow on both sides, and whose 
leaves, if taken inwardly, are good against surfeits ; where 
the meadows are green all the year long, and where they might 
lie down safely. (Ps. xxiii.) 

By this river-side, in the meadow, there were cotes and folds 
for sheep, an house built for the nourishing and bringing up of 
those lambs, the babes of those women that go on pilgrimage. 

3 D 



THE RIVER OP THE WATER OP LIFE. 387 

that could gather these lambs with his arm, and carry them in 
his bosom, and that could gently lead those that were with 
young (Heb. v. 2 ; Isa. xl. 11). Now to the care of this man 
Christiana admonished her four daughters to commit their 
little ones, that by these waters they might be housed, 
harboured, succoured, and nourished, and that none of them 
might be lacking in time to come. This man, if any of them 
go astray or be lost, he will bring them again ; he will also 
bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen them that 
are sick (Jer. xxiii. 4 ; Ezek. xxxiv. 11-16). Here they will 
never want meat and drink and clothing; here they will be kept 
from thieves and robbers, for this man will die before one of 
those committed to his trust shall be lost. Besides, here they 
shall be sure to have good nurture and admonition, and shall 
be taught to walk in right paths ; and that, you know, is a 
favour of no small account. Also here, as you see, are 
delicate waters, pleasant meadows, dainty flowers, variety of 
trees, and such as bear wholesome fruit. Fruit, not like that 
that Matthew eat of, that fell over the wall out of Beelzebub's 
garden, but fruit that procureth health where there is none, 
and that continueth and increaseth it where it is. 

So they were content to commit their little ones to him ; 
and that which was also an encouragement to them so to do 
was, for that all this was to be at the charge of the King, and 
so was an hospital to young children and orphans. 

Now they went on ; and when they were come to By-path 
meadow, to the stile over which Christian went with his 
fellow Hopeful, when they were taken by Giant Despair and 
put into Doubting Castle, they sat down and consulted what 
was best to be done, to wit, now they were so strong, and had 
got such a man as Mr. Great-heart for their conductor, 
whether they had not best to make an attempt upon the giant, 
demolish his castle, and if there were any pilgrims in it, to 
set them at liberty before they went any farther. So one 
said one thing, and another said the contrary. One questioned 
if it was lawful to go upon unconsecrated ground, another 
said they might, provided their end was good ; but Mr. Great- 
heart said, " Though that assertion offered last cannot be uni- 



388 THET DETERMINE TO ATTACK GIANT DESPAIR. 

versally true, yet I have a commandment to resist sin, to 
overcome evil, to fight the good fight of faith. And, I pray, 
with whom should I fight this good fight if not with Giant 
Despair ? I will therefore attempt the taking away of his 
life and the demolishing of Doubting Castle." Then said he, 
" Who will go with me ? " 

Then said old Honest, " I will;" "And so will we too," 
said Christian's four sons, Matthew, Samuel, James, and 
Joseph ; for they were young men, and strong (1 John ii. 13, 
14). 

So they left the women in the road, and with them Mr. 
Feeble-mind and Mr. Ready-to-halt, with his crutches, to be 
their guard until they came back ; for in that place, though 
Giant Despair dwelt so near, they keeping in the road, " a 
little child might lead them" (Isa. xi. 6). 

So Mr. Great-heart, old Honest, and the four young men, 
went to go up to Doubting Castle to look for Giant Despair. 
When they came at the castle- gate, they knocked for entrance 
with an unusual noise. At that the old Giant comes to the 
gate, and Diffidence his wife follows : then said he, " Who 
and what is he that is so hardy as after this manner to 
molest the Giant Despair ? " Mr. Great- heart replied, " It is 
I, Great-heart, one of the King of the celestial country's con- 
ductors of pilgrims to their place ; and I demand of thee that 
thou open thy gates for my entrance ; prepare thyself also to 
fight, for I am come to take away thy head, and to demolish 
Doubting Castle." 

Now Giant Despair, because he was a giant, thought 
no man could overcome him ; and again, thought he, since 
heretofore I have made a conquest of angels, shall Great- 
heart make me afraid ? So he harnessed himself and went 
out. He had a cap of steel upon his head, a breast-plate of 
fire girded to him, and he came out in iron shoes, with a great 
club in his hand. Then these six men made up to him, and 
beset him behind and before ; also when Diffidence the 
giantess came up to help him, old Mr. Honest cut her down at 
one blow. Then they fought for their lives, and Giant Despair 
was brought down to the ground, but was very loath to die. 




He straggled hard, and had as, they say, as many lives as a 
cat ; but Great-heart was his death, for he left him not till he 
had severed his head from his shoulders. 

Then they fell to demolishing Doubting Castle, and that, 
you know, might with ease be done, since Giant Despair was 
dead. They were seven days in destroying of that ; and in it 
of pilgrims they found one Mr. Despondency, almost starved 
to death, and one Much-afraid, his daughter ; these two they 
saved alive. But it would a made you a wondered to have 
seen the dead bodies that lay here and there in the castle- 
yard, and how full of dead men's bones the dungeon was. 

When Mr. Great-heart and his companions had performed 
this exploit, they took Mr. Despondency and his daughter 
Much-afraid into their protection, for they were honest people, 
though they were prisoners in Doubting Castle to that tyrant 
Giant Despair. They therefore, I say, took with them the 



390 THEY REJOICE OVEE THEIR VICTORY. 

head of the giant (for his body they had buried under a heap 
of stones), and down to the road and to their companions 
they came, and shewed them what they had done. Now 
when Feeble-mind and Ready-to-halt saw that it was the head 
of Giant Despair indeed, they were very jocund and merry. 
Now Christiana, if need was, could play upon the viol, and 
her daughter Mercy upon the lute ; so, since they were so 
merry- disposed, she played them a lesson, and Ready-to-halt 
would dance. So he took Despondency's daughter named 
Much-afraid by the hand, and to dancing they went in the road. 
True, he could not dance without one crutch in his hand, but, 
I promise you, he footed it well ; also the girl was to be com- 
mended, for she answered the music handsomely. 

As for Mr. Despondency, the music was not much to him ; 
he was for feeding rather than dancing, for that he was 
almost starved. So Christiana gave him some of her bottle 
of spirits for present relief, and then prepared him something 
to eat ; and in little time the old gentleman came to himself, 
and began to be finely revived. 

Now I saw in my dream, when all these things were 
finished, Mr. Great-heart took the head of Giant Despair, and 








set it upon a pole by the highway side, right over against the 
pillar that Christian erected for a caution to pilgrims that 
came after, to take heed of entering into his grounds. 

Then he writ under it, upon a marble stone, these verses 
following : 



" This is the head of him whose name only, 
In former times, did pilgrims terrify. 
His castle's down, and Diffidence his wife 
Brave Master Great-heart has bereft of life. 
Despondency, his daughter Much-afraid, 
Great-heart for them also the man has played. 
Who hereof doubts, if he'll but cast his eye 
Up hither, may his scruples satisfy ; 
This head, also when doubting cripples dance, 
Doth shew from fears they have deliverance." 



392 



THEY REACH THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS. 



When these men had thus bravely shewed themselves 
against Doubting Castle, and had slain Giant Despair, they 
went forward, and went on till they came to the Delectable 
Mountains, where Christian and Hopeful refreshed themselves 
with the varieties of the place. They also acquainted them- 
selves with the shepherds there, who welcomed them, as they 
had done Christian before, unto the Delectable Mountains. 

Now the shepherds seeing so great a train follow Mr. 
Great-heart (for with him they were well acquainted), they 
said unto him, " Good sir, you have got a goodly company 
here ; pray where did you find all these ? " 

Then Mr. Great-heart replied, 

" First, here's Christiana and her train ; 
Her sons, and her sons' wives, who, like the wain. 
Keep by the pole, and do by compass steer 
From sin to grace, else they had not been here. 
Next, here's old Honest come on pilgrimage ; 
Ready-to-halt too, who, I dare engage, 
True-hearted is; and so is Feeble-mind, 
Who willing was not to be left behind. 
Despondency, good man, is coming after, 
And so also is Much-afraid his daughter. 
May we have entertainment here, or must 
We farther go ? let's know whereon to trust." 

Then said the shepherds, " This is a comfortable company : 
you are welcome to us, for we have for the feeble as for the 





strong ; our Prince has an eye to what is done to the least of 
these (Matt. xxv. 40). Therefore infirmity must not be a 
block to our entertainment." 

So they had them to the palace-door, and then said unto 
them, " Come in, Mr. Feeble- mind ; come in, Mr. Ready-to- 
halt ; come in, Mr. Despondency, and Mrs. Much-afraid, his 
daughter. These, Mr. Great-heart," said the shepherds to 
the guide, "we call in by name, for that they are most subject 
to draw back ; but as for you, and the rest that are strong, 
we leave you to your wonted liberty." Then said Mr. Great- 
heart, " This day I see that grace doth shine in your faces, 
and that you are my Lord's shepherds indeed ; for that you 
have not pushed these diseased neither with side nor shoulder, 
but have rather strewed their way into the palace with flowers, 
as you should " (Ezek. xxxiv. 21). 

3e 



394 MOUNT MABVEL. 

So the feeble and weak went in, and Mr. Great-heart and 
the rest did follow. When they were also set down, the 
shepherds said to those of the weakest sort, " What is it that 
yon wonld have? for," said they, "all things must be managed 
here to the supporting of the weak, as well as the warning of 
the nnrnly." 

So they made them a feast of things easy of digestion, and 
that were pleasant to the palate, and nourishing ; the which, 
when they had received, they went to their rest, each one re- 
spectively unto his proper place. When morning was come, 
because the mountains were high and the day clear, and be- 
cause it was the custom of the shepherds to shew to the pilgrims, 
before their departure, some rarities ; therefore, after they 
were ready, and had refreshed themselves, the shepherds took 
them out into the fields, and shewed them first what they had 
shewed to Christian before. 

Then they had them to some new places. The first was to 
Mount Marvel, where they looked, and beheld a man at a dis- 
tance that tumbled the hills about with words. Then they 
asked the shepherds what that should mean. So they told 
them that that man was the son of one Great-grace, of whom 
you read in the first part of the records of the " Pilgrim's 
Progress ; " and he is set there to teach pilgrims how to 
believe down, or to tumble out of their ways, what difficulties 
they shall meet with, by faith (Mark xi. 23, 24). Then said 
Mr. Great-heart, " I know him ; he is a man above many." 

Then they had them to another place, called Mount Inno- 
cent ; and there they saw a man clothed all in white, and 
two men, Prejudice and Ill-will, continually casting dirt upon 
him. Now, behold, the dirt, whatsoever they cast at him, 
would in little time fall off again, and his garment would 
look as clear as if no dirt had been cast thereat. 

Then said the pilgrims, " What means this ? " The shep- 
herds answered, " This man is named Godly-man, and this 
garment is to shew the innocency of his life. Now those 
that throw dirt at him are such as hate his well-doing ; but, 
as you see, the dirt will not stick upon his clothes : so it shall 



MOUNT CHARITY. 



395 



be with him tliat liveth truly innocently in the world. Who- 
ever they be that would make such men dirty, they labour all 
in vain; for God, by that a little time is spent, will cause 
that their innocence shall break forth as the light, and 
their righteousness as the noon- day." 

Then they took them, and had them to Mount Charity, 
where they shewed them a man that had a bundle of cloth 
lying before him, out of which he cut coats and garments for 
the poor that stood about him ; yet his bundle or roll of cloth 
was never the less. 

Then said they, " What should this be ? " " This is," said 
the shepherds, " to shew you, that he that hath a heart to give 




396 



FOOL AND WANT-WIT. 




of his labour to the poor, shall never 
want wherewithal. He that watereth 
shall be watered himself. And the 
cake that the widow gave to the pro- 
phet did not cause that she had ever 
the less in her barrel." 

They had them also to a place 
where they saw one Fool and one 
Want-wit washing of an Ethiopian 
with intention to make him white ; but 
the more they washed him the blacker 
he was. They then asked the shep- 
herds what that should mean. So 
they told them, saying, "Thus shall it be with the vile 
person ; all means used to get such an one a good name shall, 
in conclusion, tend but to make him more abominable. Thus 
it was with the Pharisees, and so shall it be with all hypo- 
crites." 

Then said Mercy the wife of Matthew to Christiana her 
mother, " Mother, I would, if it might be, see the hole in the 
hill, or that commonly called the By-way to Hell." So her 
mother brake her mind to the shepherds. Then they went 
to the door ; it was in the side of an hill, and they opened it, 
and bid Mercy hearken awhile. So she hearkened, and heard 
one saying, " Cursed be my father for holding of my feet back 
from the way of peace and life ; " and another said, " Oh, that 
I had been torn in pieces before I had, to save my life, lost my 
soul ; " and another said, " If I were to live again, how would 
I deny myself rather than come to this place." Then there 
was as if the very earth had groaned and quaked under the 
feet of this young woman for fear ; so she looked white, and 
came trembling away, saying, " Blessed be he and she that is 
delivered from this place." 

Now when the shepherds had shewed them all these things, 
then they had them back to the palace, and entertained them 
with what the house would afford ; but Mercy, being a 
young and breeding woman, longed for something that she 
saw there, but was ashamed to ask. Her mother-in-law then 



MERCY LONGS FOR A LOOKING-GLASS. 



397 



asked her what she ailed, for she looked as one not well. 
Then said Mercy, "There is a looking-glass hangs np in 
the dining-room, off of which I cannot take my mind; if, 
therefore, I have it not, I think I shall miscarry." Then said 
her mother, " I will mention thy wants to the shepherds, and 
they will not deny it thee." But she said, " I am ashamed 
that these men should know that I longed." "Nay, my 
daughter," said she, "it is no shame but a virtue to long for 
such a thing as that ; " so Mercy said, " Then, mother, if you 
please, ask the shepherds if they are willing to sell it." 

Now the glass was one of a thousand. It would present a 
man, one way, with his own feature exactly ; and turn it but 
another way, and it would shew one the very face and simili- 
tude of the Prince of pilgrims himself. Yea, I have talked 
with them that can tell, and they have said, that they have 




398 THE SHEPHERDS GIVE PRESENTS TO THE PILGRIMS. 

seen the very crown of thorns upon His head by looking in 
that glass; they have therein also seen the holes in His 
hands, in His feet, and His side. Tea, such an excellency is 
there in that glass, that it will shew Him to one where they 
have a mind to see Him, whether living or dead, whether in 
earth or heaven, whether in a state of humiliation or in His 
exaltation, whether coming to suffer or coming to reign.* 

Christiana, therefore, went to the shepherds apart (now the 
names of the shepherds are Knowledge, Experience, Watch- 
ful, and Sincere), and said unto them, " There is one of my 
daughters, a breeding woman, that I think doth long for 
something that she hath seen in this house, and she thinks 
she shall miscarry if she should by you be denied." 

Experience. "Call her, call her; she shall assuredly have 
what we can help her to." So they called her, and said to 
her, " Mercy, what is that thing thou wouldest have ? " Then 
she blushed, and said, " The great glass that hangs up in the 
dining-room." So Sincere ran and fetched it; and with a 
joyful consent it was given her. Then she bowed her head 
and gave thanks, and said, " By this I know that I have ob- 
tained favour in your eyes." 

They also gave to the other young women such things as 
they desired, and to their husbands great commendations for 
that they joined with Mr. Greatheart to the slaying of Giant 
Despair and the demolishing of Doubting Castle. 

About Christiana's neck the shepherds put a bracelet, and 
so they did about the necks of her four daughters ; also they 
put ear-rings in their ears and jewels on their foreheads. 

When they were minded to go hence, they let them go in 
peace ; but gave not to them those certain cautions which be- 
fore were given to Christian and his companion. The reason 
was, for that these had Great-heart to be their guide, who 
was one that was well acquainted with things, and so could 
give them their cautions more seasonably, to wit, even then 
when the danger was nigh the approaching. 

* James i. 23; 1 Cor. xiii. 12; 2 Cor. iii. 18. 




What cautions Christian and his companion had received 
of the shepherds, they had also lost by that the time was 
come that they had need to put them in practice. Where- 
fore here was the advantage that this company had over the 
other. 

From hence they went on singing ; and they said : 

" Behold, how fitly are the stages set 

For their relief that pilgrims are "become ; 
And how they us receive without one let 

That make the other life our mark and home. 



400 THEY OVEETAKE VALIANT-FOE-TRUTH. 

What novelties they have to us they give, 
That we, though pilgrims, joyful lives may live ; 
They do upon us too such things bestow, 
That shew we pilgrims are where'er we go." 

When they were gone from the shepherds, they quickly 
came to the place where Christian met with one Turn- away, 
that dwelt in the town of Apostacy. Wherefore of him, Mr. 
Great-heart their guide did now put them in mind, saying, 
" This is the place where Christian met with one Turn-away, 
who carried with him the character of his rebellion at his 
back. And this I have to say concerning this man, He would 
hearken to no counsel, but once a falling, persuasion could 
not stop him (Heb. x. 26-29). When he came to the place 
where the cross and the sepulchre was, he did meet with one 
that did bid him look there ; but he gnashed with his teeth, 
and stamped, and said he was resolved to go back to his own 
town. Before he came to the gate, he met with Evangelist, 
who offered to lay hands on him, to turn him into the way 
again. But this Turn-away resisted him, and having done 
much despite unto him, he got away over the wall, and so 
escaped his hand." 

Then they went on, and just at the place where Little- faith 
formerly was robbed there stood a man with his sword drawn, 
and his face all bloody. Then said Mr. Great-heart, " What 
art thou? " The man made answer, saying, "I am one whose 
name is Valiant- for-truth. I am a pilgrim, and am going to 
the Celestial City. Now as I was in my way, there was three 
men did beset me, and propounded unto me these three 
things : 1. Whether I would become one of them ? 2. Or go 
back from whence I came ? 3. Or die upon the place ? To 
the first I answered, I had been a true man a long season, 
and therefore it could not be expected that I now should cast 
in my lot with thieves (Prov. i. 10-14). Then they de- 
manded what I would say to the second. So I told them 
that the place from whence I came, had I not found incom- 
modity there, I had not forsaken it at all; but finding it 
altogether unsuitable to me, and very unprofitable for me, I 
forsook it for this way. Then they asked me what I said to 




the tlaird ; and I told them my life cost more dear far, than 
that I should lightly give it away. Besides, yon have nothing 
to do thus to put things to my choice ; wherefore at your peril 
be it if you meddle. Then these three, to wit, Wild-head, 
Inconsiderate, and Pragmatic, drew upon me, and I also drew 
upon them. 

" So we fell to it, one against three, for the space of above 
three hours. They have left upon me, as you see, some of 
the marks of their valour, and have also carried away with 
them some of mine. They are but just now gone. I suppose 
they might, as the saying is, hear your horse dash, and so 
they betook them to flight." 

Great- heart. But here was great odds, three against one ! 

Valiant. " 'Tis true ; but little and more are nothing to 
him that has the truth on his side. Though an host should 
encamp against me, said one, my heart shall not fear. Though 
war should rise against me, in this will I be confident, &c. 
(Ps. xxvii. 3.) Besides," said he, "I have read in some 
records, that one man has fought an army ; and how many 
did Samson slay with the jawbone of an ass ? " 
. Great- heart. Then said the guide, " Why did you not cry 
out, that some might a come in for your succour." 

3f 



402 valiant-for-truth's account of his fight. 

Valiant. So did I, to my King, who I knew could hear, 
and afford invisible help ; and that was sufficient for me. 

Great-heart. Then said Greafc-hearfc to Mr. Valiant-for- 
truth, "Thou hast worthily behaved thyself: let me see thy 
sword." So he shewed it him. 

When he had taken it in his hand, and looked thereon a 
while, he said, "Ah, it is a right Jerusalem blade ! " 

Valiant. It is so. Let a man have one of these blades, 
with a hand to wield it, and skill to use it, and he may ven- 
ture upon an angel with it. He need not fear its holding, if 
he can but tell how to lay on. Its edges will never blunt. It 
will cut flesh, and bones, and soul, and spirit, and all (Ephes. 
vi. 12-17; Heb. iv. 12). 

Great-heart. But you fought a great while, I wonder you 
was not weary. 

Valiant. I fought till my sword did cleave to my hand 
(2 Sam. xxiii. 10) ; and when they were joined together, as 
if a sword grew out of my arm, and when the blood run 
through my fingers, then I fought with most courage. 

Great-heart. Thou hast done well ; thou "hast resisted unto 
blood, striving against sin. Thou shalt abide by us, come in, 
and go out with us, for we are thy companions. 

Then they took him and washed his wounds, and gave him 
of what they had to refresh him ; and so they went on 
together. Now as they went on, because Mr. Great-heart was 
delighted in him (for he loved one greatly that he found to 
be a man of his hands), and because there was with his com- 
pany them that was feeble and weak, therefore he questioned 
with him about many things ; as first, " What countryman he 
was ? " 

Valiant. I am of Dark-land, for there I was born; and 
there my father and mother are still. 

^ Great-heart. "Dark-land," said the guide; "doth not that 
lie upon the same coast with the City of Destruction ? " 

Valiant. Yes, it doth. Now that which caused me to come 
on pilgrimage was this. We had one Mr. Tell-true came into 
our parts, and he told it about what Christian had done, that 
went from the City of Destruction; namely, how he had for* 







saken his wife and children, and had betaken himself to a 
pilgrim's life. It was also confidently reported how he had 
killed a serpent that did come out to resist him in his journey ; 
and how he got through to whither he ir tended. It was also 
told what welcome he had at all his Lord's lodgings, specially 
when he came to the gates of the Celestial City ; " For there," 
said the man, " he was received with sound of trumpet by a 



404 valiant-fob-truth's inducements and 

company of shining ones." He told it also how all the bells 
in the city did ring for joy at his reception, and what golden 
garments he was clothed with, with many other things that 
now I shall forbear to relate. In a word, that man so told 
the story of Christian and his travels, that my heart fell into 
a burning haste to be gone after him ; nor could father or 
mother stay me ; so I got from them, and am come thus far 
on my way. 

Great- heart. You came in at the gate, did you not ? 

Valiant. Yes, yes ; for the same man also told us, that all 
would be nothing, if we did not begin to enter this way at 
the gate. 

Great-heart. "Look you," said the guide to Christiana, 
"the pilgrimage of your husband, and what he has gotten 
thereby, is spread abroad far and near." 

Valiant. Why, is this Christian's wife ? 

Great-heart. Yes, that it is ; and these are also her four 
sons. 

Valiant. What ! and going on pilgrimage too ? 

Great-heart. Yes, verily ; they are following after. 

Valiant. It glads me at heart ! Good man ! How joyful 
will he be when he shall see them that would not go with 
him, yet to enter after him in at the gates into the city. 

Great-heart. Without doubt it will be a comfort to him ; 
for next to the joy of seeing himself there, it will be a joy to 
meet there his wife and his children. 

Valiant. But now you are upon that, pray let me hear your 
opinion about it. Some make a question whether we shall 
know one another when we are there. 

Great-heart. " Do they think they shall know themselves, 
then ? or that they shall rejoice to see themselves in that 
bliss ? And if they think they shall know and do these, why 
not know others, and rejoice in their welfare also ? 

"Again, since relations are our second self, though that 
state will be dissolved there, yet why may it not be rationally 
concluded, that we shall be more glad to see them there, than 
to see they are wanting ? " 

Valiant. Well, I perceive whereabouts you are as to this. 



HINDRANCES TO GOING ON PILGRIMAGE. 



405 



Have you any more tilings to ask me about my beginning to 
come on pilgrimage ? 

Great-heart. Yes ; was your father and mother willing 
that yon should become a pilgrim ? 

Valiant. Oh, no ; they used all means imaginable to per- 
suade me to stay at home. 

Great-heart. Why, what could they say against it ? 

Valiant. They said it was an idle life, and if I myself 
were not inclined to sloth and laziness, I would never counte- 
nance a pilgrim's condition. 

Great-heart. And what did they say else ? 

Valiant. Why, they told me that it was a dangerous way ; 
"yea, the most dangerous way in the world," said they, "is 
that which the pilgrims go." 

Great-heart. Did they shew wherein this way was so dan- 
gerous ? 

Valiant. Y es ; and that in many particulars. 

Great-heart. Name some of them. 

Valiant. They told me of the Slough of Despond, where 
Christian was wellnigh smothered. They told me that there 
were archers standing ready in Beelzebub Castle to shoot 



-y-u-y \r-irir-\rrr- 




406 yaliant-for-truth's DISCOURAGEMENTS". 

them that should knock at the wicket-gate for entrance. 
They told me also of the wood and dark mountains, of the 
hill Difficulty, of the lions, and also of the three giants, 
Bloody-man, Maul, and Slay-good. They said, moreover, 
that there was a foul fiend haunted the Valley of Humiliation, 
and that Christian was by him almost bereft of life. " Be- 
sides," said they, " you must go oyer the Valley of the Shadow 
of Death, where the hobgoblins are, where the light is dark- 
ness, where the way is full of snares, pits, traps, and gins." 
They told me also of Giant Despair, of Doubting Castle, and 
of the ruins that the pilgrims met with there. Further, they 
said, I must go over the Enchanted Ground, which was dan- 
gerous. And that, after all this, I should find a river, over 
which I should find no bridge, and that that river did lie 
betwixt me and the Celestial Country. 

Great-heart. And was this all ? 

Valiant. No ; they also told me that this way was fall of 
deceivers, and of persons that laid await there to turn good 
men out of the path. 

Great-heart. But how did they make that out ? 

Valiant. They told me that Mr. Worldly Wiseman did 
there lie in wait to deceive. They also said that there was 
Formality and Hypocrisy continually on the road. They said 
also that By-ends, Talkative, or Demas, would go near to 
gather me up ; that the Flatterer would catch me in his net ; 
or,- that, with green-headed Ignorance, I would presume to go 
on to the gate, from whence he was sent back to the hole 
that was in the side of the hill, and made to go the by-way 
to hell. 

Great-heart. I promise you, this was enough to discourage. 
But did they make an end here ? 

Valiant. No ; stay. They told me also of many that had 
tried that way of old, and that had gone a great way therein, 
to see if they could find something of the glory there that so 
many had so much talked of from time to time ; and how 
they came back again, and befooled themselves for setting a 
foot out of doors in that path, to the satisfaction of all the 
country. And they named several that did so, as Obstinate 



AND HINDRANCES. 



407 



and Pliable, Mistrust and Timorous, Turn-away and old 
Atheist, with several more, who, they said, had, some of them, 
gone far to see if they could find, but not one of them found 
so much advantage by going as amounted to the weight of a 
feather. 

Great- heart. Said they anything more to discourage you ? 

Valiant. Yes ; they told me of one Mr. Fearing, who was 
a pilgrim, and how he found this way so solitary, that he never 
had comfortable hour therein ; also that Mr. Despondency 
had like to a been starved therein ; yea, and also, which I had 
almost forgot, that Christian himself, about whom there has 
been such a noise, after all his adventures for a celestial crown, 
was certainly drowned in the Black River, and never went 
foot farther ; however it was smothered up. 

Great-heart. And did none of these things discourage 
you? 

Valiant. ~No ; they seemed but as so many nothings to me. 

Great-heart. How came that about ? 

Valiant. Why, I still believed what Mr. Tell-true had 
said ; and that carried me beyond them all. 

Great- heart. Then this was your victory, even your faith. 

Valiant. It was so ; I believed, and therefore came out, 
got into the way, .fought all that set themselves against me, 
and, by believing, am come to this place. 




408 



THE PILGRIMS REACH THE ENCHANTED GROUND. 




Who would true valour see 

Let him come hither ; 
One here will constant be, 

Come wind, come weather. 
There's no discouragement 
Shall make him once relent 
His first avow'd intent 
To be a pilgrim. 



Who so beset him round 
With dismal stories 

Do but themselves confound ; 
His strength the more is. 

No lion can him fright, 

He'll with a giant fight ; 

But he will have a right 
To be a pilgrim. 



Hobgoblin nor foul fiend 
Can daunt his spirit : 

He knows he at the end 
Shall life inherit. 

Then, fancies, fly away ! 

He'll fear not what men say ; 

He'll labour night and day 
To be a pilgrim." 



By this time they were got to the Enchanted Ground, where 
the air naturally tended to make one drowsy. And that place 
was all grown over with briers and thorns, excepting here and 
there where was an enchanted arbour, upon which, if a man 
sits or in which, if a man sleeps, 'tis a question, say some, 
whether ever they shall rise or wake again in this world. 
Over this forest, therefore, they went, both one with another ; 
and Mr. Great-heart went before, for that he was the guide, 
and Mr. Valiant- for- truth he came behind, being there a guard, 
for fear lest peradventure some fiend, or dragon, or giant, or 
thief, should fall upon their rear, and so do mischief. They 
went on here each man with his sword drawn in his hand, for 
they knew it was a dangerous place. Also they cheered up one 



THEIR DIFFICULTIES IN PASSING OVER IT. 409 

another as well as they could. Feeble-mind Mr. Great- 
heart commanded should come up after him, and Mr. De- 
spondency was under the eye of Mr. Valiant. 

Now they had not gone far, but a great mist and a darkness 
fell upon them all, so that they could scarce, for a great while, 
see the one the other. Wherefore they were forced for some 
time to feel for one another by words, for they walked not by 
sight. 

But any one must think, that here was but sorry going for 
the best of them all ; but how much worse for the women and 
children, who both of feet and heart were but tender. Yet 
so it was, that, through the encouraging words of he that led 
in the front, and of him that brought them up behind, they 
made a pretty good shift to wag along. 

The way also was here very wearisome through dirt and 
slabbiness. Nor was there on all this ground so much as 
one inn or victualling-house, therein to refresh the feebler 
sort. Here, therefore, was grunting and puffing and sighing : 
while one tumbleth over a bush, another sticks fast in the 
dirt, and the children, some of them, lost their shoes in 
the mire. While one cries out, " I am down ; " and 
another, "Ho! where are you?" and a third, "The bushes 
have got such fast hold on me, I think I cannot get away 
from them." 

Then they came at an arbour, warm, and promising much 
refreshing to the pilgrims ; for it was finely wrought above- 
head, beautified with greens, furnished with benches and 
settles. It also had in it a soft couch whereon the weary 
might lean. This, you must think, all things considered, 
was tempting ; for the pilgrims already began to be foiled 
with the badness of the way ; but there was not one of them 
that made so much as a motion to stop there. Yea, for aught 
I could perceive, they continually gave so good heed to the 
advice of their guide, and he did so faithfully tell them of 
dangers, and of the nature of dangers when they were at 
them, that usually, when they were nearest to them, they did 
most pluck up their spirits, and hearten one another to deny 
the flesh. This arbour was called the Slothful's Friend, on 

3 G 



410 THEY DISCOVER HEEDLESS AND TOO-BOLD. 

purpose to allure, if it might be, some of the pilgrims there, 
to take up their rest when weary. 

I saw then in my dream, that they went on in this their 
solitary ground, till they came to a place at which a man is 
apt to lose his way. Now, though, when it was light, their 
guide could well enough tell how to miss those ways that led 
wrong, yet, in the dark, he was put to a stand ; but he had in 
his pocket a map of all ways leading to or from the Celestial 
City; wherefore he struck a light (for he never goes also 
without his tinder-box), and takes a view of his book or map, 
which bids him be careful in that place to turn to the right- 
hand way. And had he not here been careful to look in his 
map, they had all, in probability, been smothered in the mud; 
for just a little before them, and that at the end of the 
cleanest way too, was a pit, none knows how deep, full of 
nothing but mud, there made on purpose to destroy the 
pilgrims in. 

Then thought I with myself, who that goeth on pilgrimage, 
but would have one of these maps about him, that he may 
look, when he is at a stand, which is the way he must 
take? 

They went on then in this Enchanted Ground, till they 
came to where was another arbour, and it was built by the 
highway- side. And in that arbour there lay two men whose 
names were Heedless and Too-bold. These two went thus 
far on pilgrimage ; but here, being wearied with their journey, 
they sat down to rest themselves, and so fell fast asleep. 
When the pilgrims saw them, they stood still and shook their 
heads, for they knew that the sleepers were in a pitiful case. 
Then they consulted what to do, whether to go on and leave 
them in their sleep, or to step to them and try to awake them. 
So they concluded to go to them and wake them, that is, if 
they could ; but with this caution, namely, to take heed that 
themselves did not sit down, nor embrace the offered benefit 
of that arbour. 

So they went in and spake to the men, and called each by 
his name (for the guide, it seems, did know them) ; but there 
was no voice nor answer. Then the guide did shake them, 








and do what he could to disturb them. Then said one of 
them, "I will pay you when I take my money;" at which 
the guide shook his head. "I will fight so long as I can hold 
my sword in my hand," said the other. At that, one of the 
children laughed. 

Then said Christiana, " What is the meaning of this ? " 
The guide said, "They talk in their sleep. If you strike 
them, beat them, or whatever else you do to them, they will 
answer you after this fashion ; or as one of them said in old 
time, when the waves of the sea did beat upon him, and he 
slept as one upon the mast of a ship, ' When I awake I will 
seek it again' (Prov. xxiii. 34, 35). You know, when men 
talk in their sleeps, they say anything;' but their words are 
not governed either by faith or reason. There is an inco- 



412 THEIR FATE A CAUTION TO PILGRIMS. 

kerency in their words now, as there was before, betwixt 
their going on pilgrimage and sitting down here. This, then, 
is the mischief on't; when heedless ones go on pilgrimage, 
'tis twenty to one bnt they are served thus. For this En- 
chanted Ground is one of the last refuges that the enemy to 
pilgrims has ; wherefore it is, as you see, placed almost at the 
end of the way ; and so it standeth against us with the more 
advantage. For when, thinks the enemy, will these fools be 
so desirous to sit down as when they are weary ? and when 
so like to be weary as when almost at their journey's end ? 
Therefore it is, I say, that the Enchanted Ground is placed so 
nigh to the land Beulah, and so near the end of their race. 
Wherefore let pilgrims look to themselves, lest it happen to 
them as it has done to these that, as you see, are fallen asleep, 
and none can wake them." 

Then the pilgrims desired with trembling to go forward, 
only they prayed then guide to strike a light, that they might 
go the rest of their way by the help of the light of a lantern 
(2 Pet. i. 19). So he struck a light, and they went by the 
help of that through the rest of this way, though the darkness 
was very great. 




STANDFAST IS DISCOVEEED ON HIS KNEES. 413 

But the children began to be sorely weary, and they cried out 
unto Him that loveth pilgrims, to make their way more com- 
fortable. So by that they had gone a little farther, a wind 
arose that drove away the fog ; so the air became more clear. 

Yet they were not off, by much, of the Enchanted Ground ; 
only now they could see one another better, and the way 
wherein they should walk. 

Now, when they were almost at the end of this ground,' 
they perceived that a little before them was a solemn noise, 
as of one that was much concerned. So they went on and 
looked before them, and behold, they saw, as they thought, a 
man upon his knees, with hands and eyes lifted up, and speak- 
ing, as they thought, earnestly to one that was above. They 
drew nigh, but could not tell what he said; so they went 
softly till he had done. When he had done, he got up, and 
began to run towards the Celestial City. Then Mr. Great- 
heart called after him, saying, " Soho, friend, let us have your 
company, if you go, as I suppose you do, to the Celestial 
City." So the man stopped, and they came up to him. But 
so soon as Mr. Honest saw him, he said, " I know this man." 
Then said Mr. Yaliant-for-truth, "Prithee, who is it?" 
" 'Tis one," said he, " that comes from whereabouts I dwelt, 
his name is Standfast ; he is certainly a right-good pilgrim." 

So they came up one to another, and presently Standfast 
said to old Honest, "Ho, Father Honest, are you there?" 
"Ay," said he, "that I am, as sure as you are there." 
" Right glad am I," said Mr. Standfast, " that I have found 
you on this road." "And as glad am I," said the other, 
"that I espied you upon your knees." Then Mr. Standfast 
blushed, and said, " But why ; did you see me ? " " Yes, 
that I did," quoth the other; "and with my heart was glad 
at the sight." "Why, what did you think ? " said Standfast. 
" Think," said old Honest, " what should I think ? I thought 
we had an honest man upon the road, and therefore should 
have his company by and by." " If you thought not amiss, 
how happy am I ! But if I be not as I should, I alone must 
bear it." " That is true," said the other ; " but your fear doth 
further confirm me that things are right betwixt the Prince of 



414 standfast's cause for special prater. 

pilgrims and your soul. For lie saith, 'Blessed is the man 
that feareth always.' " 

Valiant. Well, but brother, I pray thee tell us what was it 
that was the cause of thy being upon thy knees, even now ? 
Was it for that some special mercy laid obligations upon thee, 
or how ? 

Standfast. Why, we are, as you see, upon the Enchanted 
Ground, and as I was coming along, I was musing with my- 
self of what a dangerous road the road in this place was, and 
how many that had come even thus far on pilgrimage, had 
here been stopped, and been destroyed. I thought also of the 
manner of the death with which this place destroyeth men. 
Those that die here, die of no violent distemper; the death 
which such die is not grievous to them. For he that goeth 
away in a sleep, begins that journey with desire and pleasure. 
Yea, such acquiesce in the will of that disease. 

Honest. Then Mr. Honest, interrupting of him, said, "Did 
you see the two men asleep in the arbour ? " 

Standfast. Ay, ay, I saw Heedless and Too-bold there ; and 
for aught I know, there they will lie till they rot (Prov. x. 7). 
But let me go on in my tale. As I was thus musing, as I 
said, there was one in very pleasant attire, but old, that pre- 
sented herself unto me, and offered me three things, to wit, 
her body, her purse, and her bed. Now the truth is, I was 
both aweary and sleepy ; I am also as poor as an owlet, and 
that perhaps the witch knew. Well, I repulsed her once and 
twice, but she put by my repulses, and smiled. Then I began 
to be angry, but she mattered that nothing at all. Then she 
made offers again, and said, " If I would be ruled by her, she 
would make me great and happy. For," said she, " I am the 
mistress of the world, and men are made happy by me." 
Then I asked her name, and she told me it was " Madam 
Bubble." This set me further from her; but she still fol- 
lowed me with enticements. Then I betook me, as you see, 
to my knees, and with hands lifted up, and cries, I prayed to 
Him that had said He would help. So just as you came up, 
the gentlewoman went her way. Then I continued to give 
thanks for this my great deliverance ; for I verily believe she 




-: 



intended no good, but rather sought to make stop of me in 
my journey. 

Honest. "Without doubt her designs were bad. But stay, 
now you talk of her, methinks I either have seen her, or 
have read some story of her. * 

Standfast. Perhaps you have done both. 

Honest. Madam Bubble ! Is she not a tall, comely dame, 
something of a swarthy complexion ? 

Standfast. Bight, you hit it, she is just such an one. 

Honest. Doth she not speak very smoothly, and give you a 
smile at the end of a sentence ? 

Standfast. You fall right upon it again, for these are her 
very actions. 

Honest. Doth she not wear a great purse by her side, and 



416 



GREAT-HEART S CHARACTER OP MADAM BUBBLE. 



is not her hand often in it, fingering her money, as if that was 
her heart's delight ? 

Standfast. 'Tis just so. Had she stood by all this while, 
you could not more amply have set her forth before me, nor 
have better described her features. 

Honest. Then he that drew her picture was a good limner, 
and he that wrote of her said true. 

Great-heart. This woman is a witch, and it is by virtue 
of her sorceries that this ground is enchanted ; whoever doth 
lay their head down in her lap, had as good lay it down 
upon that block over which the axe doth hang ; and whoever 
lay their eyes upon her beauty, are counted the enemies of 
God (James iv. 4 ; 1 John ii. 15). This is she that main- 
taineth in their splendour all those that are the enemies of 
pilgrims. Tea, this is she that has bought off many a man 
from a pilgrim's life. She is a great gossiper, she is always, 
both she and her daughters, at one pilgrim's heels or other, 
now commending, and then preferring the excellencies of this 
life. She is a bold and impudent slut; she will talk with any 
man. She always laugheth poor pilgrims to scorn, but highly 
commends the rich. If there be one cunning to get money in 
a place, she will speak well of him from house to house. She 
loveth banqueting and feasting mainly well ; she is always at 
one fall table or another. She has given it out in some places 
that she is a goddess, and therefore some do worship her. 
She has her times and open places of cheating, and she will 
say and avow it, that none can shew a good comparable to 




THE PILGRIMS REACH THE LAND OP BEULAH. 417 

hers. She promiseth to dwell with, children's children, if they 
will but love and make much of her. She will cast out of her 
purse gold like dust, in some places and to some persons. 
She loves to be sought after, spoken well of, and to lie in the 
bosoms of men. She is never weary of commending her 
commodities, and she loves them most that think best of her. 
She will promise to some crowns and kingdoms, if they will 
but take her advice ; yet many has she brought to the halter, 
and ten thousand times more to hell. 

Standfast. " Oh ! " said Standfast, " what a mercy is it that 
I did resist her ; for whither might she a drawn me ? " 

Great-heart. " Whither ! nay, none but God knows 
whither. But in general, to be sure, she would a drawn thee 
'into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in 
destruction and perdition ' (1 Tim. vi. 9). 

" 'Twas she that set Absalom against his father, and Jero- 
boam against his master. 'Twas she that persuaded Judas to 
sell his Lord, and that prevailed with Demas to forsake the 
godly pilgrim's life : none can tell of the mischief that she 
doth. She makes variance betwixt rulers and subjects, be- 
twixt parents and children, 'twixt neighbour and neighbour, 
'twixt a man and his wife, 'twixt a man and himself, 'twixt 
the flesh and the heart. 

"Wherefore, good master Standfast, be as your name is, 
and when you have done all, stand." 

At this discourse, there was among the pilgrims a mixture 
of joy and trembling; but at length they brake out and 
sang : 

" What danger is the pilgrim in, 

How many are his foes, 
How many ways there are to sin, 

No living mortal knows ! 
Some of the ditch shy are, yet can 

Lie tumbling on the mire ; 
Some, though they shun the frying-pan, 

.T)o leap into the fire." 

After this I beheld until they were come unto the land of 
Beulah, where the sun shineth night and day. Here, because 

3h 



413 



THE LAND OF BEULAH. 



I 






^p 



U 



they was weary, they betook them- 
selves a while to rest. And because 
this country was common for pilgrims, 
and because the orchards and vine- 
yards that were here belonged to the 
King of the Celestial Country, there- 
fore they were licensed to make bold 
with any of his things. 

But a little while soon refreshed 
them here, for the bells did so ring, 
and the trumpets continually sound 
so melodiously, that they could not 
sleep ; and yet they received as much 
refreshing as if they had slept their 
sleep never so soundly. Here also all 
the noise of them that walked the 
streets was, " More pilgrims are come 
to town." And another would answer, 
saying, " And so many went over the 
water, and were let in at the golden 
gates to-day." They would cry again, 
" There is now a legion of shining 
ones just come to town, by which we 
know that there are more pilgrims 
upon the road ; for here they come to 
wait for them, and to comfort them 
after all their sorrow." Then the pil- 
grims got up and walked to and fro ; 
but how were their ears now filled 
with heavenly noises, and their eyes 
delighted with celestial visions! In 
this land they heard nothing, saw no- 
thing, felt nothing, smelt nothing, 
tasted nothing, that was offensive to 
their stomach or mind; only when 
they tasted of the water of the river, 
over which they were to go, they 
thought that tasted a little bitterish to 



THE LAND OF BETJLAH. 



419 



the palate, but it proved sweeter when 
'twas down. 

In this place there was a record 
kept of the names of them that had 
been pilgrims of old, and a history of 
all the famous acts that they had done. 
It was here also much discoursed, how 
the river to some had had its flowings, 
and what ebbings it has had while 
others have gone over. It has been 
in a manner dry for some, while it has 
overflowed its banks for others. 

In this place, the children of the . 
town would go into the King's gar- 
dens, and gather nosegays for the pil- 
grims, and bring them to them with 
much affection. Here also grew cam- 
phor, with spikenard, and saffron, cala- 
mus, and cinnamon, with all its trees 
of frankincense, myrrh, and aloes, 
with all chief spices. With these the 
pilgrims' chambers were perfumed 
while they stayed here ; and with 
these were their bodies anointed, to 
prepare them to go over the river 
when the time appointed was come. 

Now, while they lay here and waited 
for the good hour, there was a noise 
in the town that there was a post come 
from the Celestial city with matter of 
great importance to one Christiana, the 
wife of -Christian the pilgrim. So in- 
quiry was made for her, and the house 
was found out where she was, so the 
post presented her with a letter ; the 
contents whereof was, "Hail, good 
woman, I bring thee tidings that the 
Master calleth for thee, and expecteth 





that thou shouldest stand in His pre- 
sence, in clothes of immortality, within 
this ten days." 

When he had read this letter to her, he 
gave her therewith a sure token that he 
was a true messenger, and was come to 
bid her make haste to be gone. The token 
was an arrow with a point, sharpened 
with love, let easily into her heart, which 
by degrees wrought so effectually with 
her, that at the time appointed she must 
be gone. 

When Christiana saw that her time 
was come, and that she was the first of 
this company that was to go over, she 
called for Mr. Great-heart, her guide, 
and told him how matters were. So he 
told her he was heartily glad of the 
news, and could a been glad had the 
post came for him. Then she bid that 




CHRISTIANA S LAST COUNSELS. 



421 



he should give advice how all things 
should be prepared for her journey. 

So he told her saying, " Thus and 
thus it must be, and we that survive 
will accompany you to the river-side," 

Then she called for her children, 
and gave them her blessing ; and told 
them that she yet read with comfort 
the mark that was set in their fore- 
heads, and was glad to see them with 
her there, and that they had kept their 
garments so white. Lastly, she be- 
queathed to the poor that little she 
had, and commanded her sons and 
her daughters to be ready against the 
messenger should come for them. 

When she had spoken these words 
to her guide and to her children, she 
called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and 
said unto him, " Sir, you have in all 
places shewed yourself true-hearted, 
be faithful unto death, and my King 
will give you a crown of life. I would 
also entreat you to have an eye to my 
children ; and if at any time you see 
them faint, speak comfortably to them. 
For my daughters, my sons' wives, 
they have been faithful ; and a fulfill- 
ing of the promise upon them will be 
their end." But she gave Mr. Stand- 
fast a ring. 

Then she called for old Mr. Honest, 
and said of him, " Behold an Israelite 
indeed, in whom is no guile." Then 
said he, "I wish you a fair day when 
you set out for Mount Zion, and shall 
be glad to see that you go over the 
river dryshod." But she answered, 





422 CHRISTIANA S DEPARTURE. 

" Come wet, come dry, I long to be gone ; for however the 
weather is in my journey, I shall have time enough when I 
come there, to sit down and rest me, and dry me." 

Then came in that good man Mr. Ready-to-halt to see her. 
So she said to him, " Thy travel hither has been with diffi- 
culty ; but that will make thy rest the sweeter. But watch, 
and be ready, for at an hour when yon think not, the mes- 
senger may come." 

After him came in Mr. Despondency and his daughter 
Much- afraid ; to whom she said, " Yon ought with thankful- 
ness for ever to remember your deliverance from the hands 
of Griant Despair and out of Doubting Castle. The effect of 
that mercy is, that you are brought with safety hither. Be 
ye watchful, and cast away fear; be sober, and hope to the 
end." 

Then she said to Mr. Feeble-mind, " Thou wast delivered 
from the mouth of Griant Slaygood, that thou mightest live 
in the light of the living for ever, and see thy King with 
comfort. Only I advise thee to repent thee of thy aptness to 
fear and doubt of His goodness before He sends for thee, lest 
thou shouldest, when He comes, be forced to stand before 
Him for that fault with blushing." 

Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone. So 
the road was full of people to see her take her journey. But 
behold, all the banks beyond the river were full of horses and 
chariots, which were come down from above to accompany 
her to the city-gate. So she came forth, and entered the 
river with a beckon of farewell to those that followed her to 
the river-side. The last word she was heard to say here was, 
" I come, Lord, to be with Thee, and bless Thee." 

So her children and friends returned to their place, for that 
those that waited for Christiana had carried her out of their 
sight. So she went and called, and entered in at the gate 
with all the ceremonies of joy that her husband Christian had 
done before her. 

At her departure her children wept, but Mr. Great-heart 
and Mr. Valiant played upon the well-tuned cymbal and harp 
for joy. So all departed to their respective places. 



EEADY-TO-HALT IS SUMMONED. 



423 



In process of time there came a post to the town again, 
and his business was with Mr. Ready-to-halt. So he inquired 
him out, and said to him, " I am come to thee in the name 
of Him whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon 
crutches. And my message is to tell thee, that He expects 
thee at His table to sup with Him in His kingdom the 
next day after Easter. Wherefore prepare thyself for this 
journey." 

Then he also gave him a token that he was a true mes- 
senger, saying, " I have broken thy golden bowl, and loosed 
thy silver cord" (Eccles. xii. 6). 

After this, Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow-pilgrims, 




424 FEEBLE-MIND CROSSES THE RIVER. 

and told them, saying, " I am sent for, and Grod shall surely 
visit you also." So he desired Mr. Valiant to make his will. 
And because he had nothing to bequeath to them that should 
survive him but his crutches and his good wishes, therefore 
thus he said, " These crutches I bequeath to my son that shall 
tread in my steps, with an hundred warm wishes that he may 
prove better than I have done." 

Then he thanked Mr. Great-heart for his conduct and kind- 
ness, and so addressed himself to his journey. "When he 
came at the brink of the river, he said, "Now I shall have 
no more need of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and 
horses for me to ride on." The last words he was heard to 
say was, " Welcome, life I " So he went his way. 

After this, Mr. .Feeble-mind had tidings brought him that 
the post sounded his horn at his chamber-door. Then he 
came in and told him, saying, " I am come to tell thee that 
thy Master Las need of thee, and that in very little time thou 
must behold His face in brightness. And take this as a token 
of the truth of my message, ' Those that look out at the 
windows shall be darkened' " (Eccles. xii. 3). 

Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his friends, and told them 
what errand had been brought unto him, and what token he 
had received of the truth of the message. Then he said, 
" Since I have nothing to bequeath to any, to what purpose 
should I make a will ? As for my feeble mind, that I will 
leave behind me, for that I have no need of that in the place 
whither I go ; nor is it worth bestowing upon the poorest 
pilgrim ; wherefore, when I am gone, I desire that you, Mr. 
Valiant, would bury it in a dunghill." This done, and the 
day being come in which he was to depart, he entered the 
river as the rest. His last words were, " Hold out faith and 
patience." So he went over to the other side. 

When days had many of them passed away, Mr. De- 
spondency was sent for. For a post was come, and brought 
this message to him : " Trembling man, these are to summon 
thee to be ready with thy King by the next Lord's day, to 
shout for joy for thy deliverance from all thy doubtings." 







And said the messenger, " That my message is true, take 
this for a proof." So he gave him the grasshopper to be a 
burden unto him (Eccles. xii. 5). Now Mr. Despondency's 
daughter, whose name was Much- afraid, said, when she heard 
what was done, that she would go with her father. Then Mr. 
Despondency said to his friends, " Myself and my daughter, 
you know what we have been, and how troublesomely we have 
behaved ourselves in every company. My will and my 
daughter's is, that our desponds and slavish fears be by no 
man ever received from the day of our departure for ever ; 
for I know that after my death, they will offer themselves to 
others. For, to be plain with you, they are ghosts, the which 
we entertained when we first begun to be pilgrims, and could 
never shake them off after. And they will walk about, and 

3i 



426 HONEST AND VALIANT- FOR-TRUTH AEE SUMMONED. 

seek entertainment of the pilgrims ; but for our sakes, shut 
ye the doors upon them." 

When the time was come for them to depart, they went to 
the brink of the river. The last words of Mr. Despondency 
were, "Farewell night, welcome day ! " His daughter went 
through the river singing ; but none could understand what 
she said. 

Then it came to pass, a while after, that there was a post 
in the town that inquired for Mr. Honest. So he came to his 
house where he was, and delivered to his hand these lines : — 
" Thou art commanded to be ready against this day seven- 
night, to present thyself before thy Lord at His Father's 
house. And for a token that my message is true, ' all the 
daughters of music shall be brought low ' " (Eccles. xii. 4). 
Then Mr. Honest called for his friends, and said unto them, 
" I die, but shall make no will. As for my honesty, it shall 
go with me ; let him that comes after be told of this." When 
the day that he was to be gone was come, he addressed 
himself to go over the river. Now the river at that time 
overflowed the banks in some places. But Mr. Honest, in his 
life- time, had spoken to one Grood- conscience to meet him 
there, the which he also did, and lent him his hand, and so 
helped him over. The last words of Mr. Honest were, 
" Grrace reigns." So he left the world. 

After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant- for-truth 
was taken with a summons by the same post as the other ; 
and had this for a token that the summons was true, that his 
pitcher was broken at the fountain (Eccles. xii. 6). When he 
understood it, he called for his friends, and told them of it. 
Then said he, " I am going to my Father's, and though with 
great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not repent me 
of all the trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My 
sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, 
and my courage and skill to him that can get it. My marks 
and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have 
fought His battles who now will be my Re warder." When 
the day that he must go hence was come, many accompanied 
him to the river-side ; into which as he went he said, " Death, 



STANDFAST CEOSSES THE RIVER. 427 

where is thy sting ? " And as lie went down deeper, he said, 
" Grave, where is thy victory ? " So he passed over, and all 
the trumpets sonnded for him on the other side. 

Then there came forth a summons for Mr. Standfast ({his 
Mr. Standfast was he that the rest of the pilgrims found upon 
his knees in the Enchanted Ground) ; for the post brought it 
him open in his hands. The contents whereof were, that he 
must prepare for a change of life, for his Master was not 
willing that he should be so far from Him any longer. At 
this Mr. Standfast was put into a muse ; " Nay," said the 
messenger, " you need not doubt of the truth of my message, 
for here is a token of the truth thereof, ' thy wheel is broken 
at the cistern ' " (Eccles. xii. 6). Then he called to him 
Mr. Great-heart, who was their guide, and said unto him, 
" Sir, although it was not my hap to be much in your good 
company in the days of my pilgrimage, yet, since the time I 
knew you, you have been profitable to me. When I came 
from home, I left behind me a wife and five small children. 
Let me entreat you at your return (for I know that you will 
go, and return to your Master's house, in hopes that you may 




428 standfast's teiumphant passage. 

yet be a conductor to more of the holy pilgrims), that you 
send to my family, and let them be acquainted with all that 
hath and shall happen unto me. Tell them, moreover, of my 
happy arrival to this place, and of the present late blessed 
condition that I am in. Tell them also of Christian and 
Christiana his wife, and how she and her children came after 
her husband. Tell them also of what a happy end she made, 
and whither she is gone. I have little or nothing to send to 
my family, except it be prayers and tears for them ; of which 
it will suffice if thou acquaint them, if peradventure they may 
prevail." When Mr. Standfast had thus set things in order, 
and the time being come for him to haste him away, he also 
went down to the river. Now there was a great calm at that 
time in the river, wherefore Mr. Standfast, when he was 
about half-way in, stood awhile, and talked to his com- 
panions that had waited upon him thither. And he said : 

" This river has been a terror to many ; yea, the thoughts 
of it also have often frighted me. But now, methinks I stand 
easy ; my foot is fixed upon that upon which the feet of the 
priests that bare the ark of the covenant stood, while Israel 
went over this Jordan (Jos. iii. 17). The waters, indeed, are 
to the palate bitter, and to the stomach cold ; yet the thoughts 
of what I am going to, and of the conduct that waits for me 
on the other side, doth lie as a glowing coal at my heart. 

" I see myself now at the end of my journey, my toilsome 
days are ended. I am going now to see that head that was 
crowned with thorns, and that face that was spit upon for me. 

" I have formerly lived by hearsay and faith ; but now I go 
where I shall live by sight, and shall be with Him in whose 
company I delight myself. 

" I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of, and wherever I 
have seen the print of His shoe in the earth, there I Lave 
coveted to set my foot too. 

" His name has been to me as a civet-box, yea, sweeter than 
all perfumes. His voice to me has been most sweet, and His 
countenance I have more desired than they that have most 
desired the light of the sun. His word I did use to gather 
for my food, and for antidotes against my faintings. He has 



THE CONCLUSION. 429 

held me, and I have kept me from mine iniquities, yea, my 
steps hath He strengthened in His way." 

Now while he was thus in discourse, his countenance 
changed, his strong man bowed under him ; and after he had 
said, " Take me, for I come unto Thee ! " he ceased to be seen 
of them. 

But glorious it was to see how the open region was filled 
with horses and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with 
singers and players on stringed instruments, to welcome the 
pilgrims as they went up, and followed one another in at the 
beautiful gate of the city. 

As for Christian's children, the four boys that Christiana 
brought with her, with their wives and children, I did not 
stay where I was till they were gone over. Also, since I 
came away,, I heard one say, that they were yet alive, and 
so would be for the increase of the Church in that place 
where they were for a time. 

Shall it be my lot to go that way again, I may give those 
that desire it an account of what I here am silent about ; 
meantime, I bid my reader adieu. 






IBB! 

IBs 






THE END. 




Abraham, the mount whereon he of- 
fered up Isaac, 317. 

Adam the first, of the town of Deceit, 
assaults Faithful, 85 ; his work and 
wages, 85 ; his daughters, 86 ; the 
inscription on his forehead, 86 ; 
Faithful's escape from him, 86. 

Any-thing, a relation of By-ends, 129. 

Apollyon meets Christian, 67 ; his 
hideous appearance, 67 ; assaults 
Christian, 68 ; tries to persuade 
him to return to his service, 68-70 ; 
aims a flaming dart at Christian, 70 ; 
wounds him, 71 ; is about to make 
a full end of him, 72 ; receives a 
deadly thrust, 72 ; spreads forth 
his wings and speeds away for a 
season, 72. 

Apostacy, the town of Turnaway, 167. 

Apple, Eve's, 315. 

Arrogancy, one of Faithful's worldly 
friends, 89. 

Assault Lane, in the territory of 
Giant Slaygood, 368. 

Atheist meets the pilgrims and de- 
rides them, 182. 

Backsliding, Christian's four rea- 
sons therefor, 206 ; the manner 
thereof, 208. 

Bat's-eyes, Mrs., a neighbour of Mrs. 
Timorous, 248. 

Beautiful, the palace, 51 ; the study 
in, 62 ; the armoury, 63. 

Beelzebub, captain of the castle near 
the Wicket-gate, 23; his assaults 
on pilgrims who approach thereto, 
24 ; the presiding genius of Vanity 
Fair, 115; tempts the Prince of 
princes himself, 116. 

Beelzebub's orchard, boys plash at the 
fruit thereof, 262 ; its effects, 310. 

Bloodyman (see Grim). 

Beulah, the country of, 209 ; its de- 
lights, 210 ; the Celestial City, 210 ; 
Christiana and her companions 



arrive at, 417 ; the heavenly noises 
and celestial visions thereof, 418. 

Bountiful, Mercy's sister, her treat- 
ment by her husband, S08. 

Brisk, Mr., a suitor of Mercy's, 306 ; 
his interested motives, 306 ; his 
character, 306; ceases his visits, 
307 ; his character of Mercy, 307. 

Broadway-gate leading to Deadman's- 
lane, 168. 

Bubble, Madam, assaults Standfast, 
414 ; description of her, 415 ; her 
character, 416. 

By-ends of Fairspeech is overtaken 
by Christian and Hopeful, 129 ; his 
noble relations, 129 ; his grand- 
father a waterman, looking one way 
and rowing another, 130 ; his prin- 
ciples, 130 ; propounds a question 
to his friends, Saveall, Moneylove_ 
and Hold-the-world, 135 ; they 
agree to refer it to Christian and 
Faithful, 137 ; the fate of him and 
his companions, 142. 

By-path Meadow tempts the pilgrims 
astray, 147. 

Canaan, the language of, spoken by 
the pilgrims, 116. 

Carnal-delight, Lord, of the town of 
Vanity, 124. 

Carnal-policy, the town where dwelt 
Worldly Wiseman, 13. 

Caution, hill called, 160; the view 
therefrom, 160 ; the explanation 
thereof, 160. 

Celestial City, the gates of the, seen 
from the Delectable Mountains, 164; 
its riches, 210, 212 ; its natural glory 
causes the pilgrims to fall sick, 210. 

Certificate, or roll, given in by the 
pilgrims at the celestial gate, 219. 

Charity, one of the virgins of the pa- 
lace Beautiful, 55, 301 ; her conver- 
sation with Christian, 58-60. 

Charity, Mount, 395. 



432 



INDEX. 



Christian, his anguish of mind before 
conversion, 2 ; is treated by his re- 
lations as mad, 2 ; his address to 
his wife and children, 2 ; retires to 
the fields to pray, 3 ; is instructed 
by Evangelist, 4 ; his wife and chil- 
dren cry after him, 5 ; puts his 
fingers in his ears, and runs on, 5 ; 
is overtaken by Obstinate and Pli- 
able, 6 ; meets Worldly Wiseman, 
13.; is so burdened he cannot take 
pleasure in wife or children, 14 ; 
tells Worldly Wiseman how he 
came by his burden, 15 ; is recom- 
mended by him to Mr. Legality, of 
the city of Morality, 16 ; inquires 
his way thither, 16 ; the terrors of 
the way, 17 ; repents having taken 
Worldly Wiseman's counsel, 17 ; 
meets Evangelist, 17 ; who reasons 
with and reproves him, 19 ; he falls 
at his foot as one dead, 19; Evan- 
gelist teaches him to abhor the 
counsel of Worldly Wiseman, 20 ; 
returns to the right way, 22; ar- 
rives at the wicket-gate, 22 ; knocks 
and is answered by Goodwill, 22 ; 
their conversation, 24-26 ; takes 
leave of Goodwill, 26 ; arrives at 
Interpreter's house, 26; its va- 
rious wonders, 27-39 ; is dismissed 
by Interpreter, 40; the wall Sal- 
vation, 40 ; he reaches the cross 
and the sepulchre, and his burden 
falls off, 40; is saluted by three 
shining ones, stripped of his rags, 
and clothed with change of raiment, 
40 ; a mark is set on his forehead, 
and a roll with a seal on it given 
him, 40 ; goes on his way rejoicing, 
40 ; discovers Simple, "Sloth, and 
Presumption fast asleep, 42 ; tries 
to awake them, 42 ; espies Formal- 
ist and Hypocrisy tumbling over 
the wall, 43 ; warns them of their 
error, 43 ; ascends the hill Diffi- 
culty, 46 ; reaches the pleasant ar- 
bour thereon, and falls asleep, 46; 
loses his roll, 47 ; resumes his jour- 
ney, 48 ; meets Timorous and Mis- 
trust, 48 ; enters into conversation 
with them, 48 ; discovers the loss 
of his roll, 49 ; returns in search of 
it, 50 ; his distress, 51 ; recovers his 
treasure, and his joy thereat, 51 ; 
discovers the palace Beautiful, 51 ; 
sees the lions which frightened 
Mistrust and Timorous, 52 ; is res- 
cued by Watchful, 53 ; his name 



before conversion, 53 ; is received 
by Discretion, Prudence, Piety, and 
Charity, 55 ; is introduced into the 
family, 55 ; his conversation with 
Prudence and Charity, 57-60; is 
laid in the chamber Peace, 62 ; is 
shewn the study and its records, 62 ; 
the armoury with its furniture, 63 ; 
the Delectable Mountains, Imma- 
nuel's land, 64 ; is harnessed in ar- 
mour of proof, 65 ; goes down into 
the valley of Humiliation, 67 ; meets 
Apollyon, 67 ; withstands him, 69 ; 
is attacked by the monster, 70 ; is 
wounded, 71 ; grows faint by rea- 
son of his wounds, 71 ; is over- 
thrown, 72 ; regains courage, and 
gives his adversary a deadly wound, 
72 ; his song of deliverance, 72 ; 
enters on the Valley of the Shadow 
of Death, 73 ; its terrors, 76-79 ; 
passes the cave of giants Pope and 
Pagan, 80 ; outruns Faithful, 80 ; 
is vainglorious thereat, and falls, 
81 ; is assisted to rise by Faithful, 
82 ; their discourse, 82 ; his charac- 
ter of Shame, 92 ; of Talkative, 100 ; 
Faithful and he are overtaken by 
Evangelist, 110; comes in sight of 
the town of Vanity, 113 ; Vanity 
Fair, 114 ; his presence and that of 
his companion cause a hubbub,116; 
they refuse to listen to the mer- 
chandisers, 117 ; they are appre- 
hended, 118 ; scourged, besmeared 
with dirt, and put into the cage, 
118 ; paraded in chains, 120 ; their 
meekness and patience increase the 
rage of their adversaries, 120 ; are 
put into the stocks, 120 ; are brought 
to trial, 120 ; Christian is respited, 
127 ; escapes, 127 ; is joined by 
Hopeful, 128 ; they overtake By- 
ends of Fairspeech, 129 ; his answer 
to the question of Hold-the-world, 
138 ; he and Hopeful outwalk By- 
ends and his company, 140 ; they 
reach the plain Ease, 140 ; is in- 
vited by Demas to dig in the silver 
mine on the hill Lucre, 140 ; answers 
him roundly, 140 ; reaches the river 
of the water of life, 145 ; enjoys 
its delights, and is refreshed, 147 ; 
arrives at By-path meadow, 147 ; 
persuades Hopeful to adopt it, 147 ; 
they overtake Vain Confidence, 147 ; 
are benighted in By-path me?.dow, 
148 ; they fall asleep, 149 ; are dis- 
covered by Giant Despair, 149; 



INDEX. 



437 



tificate, 221 ; is bound hand and foot 
and consigned to destruction, 221. 

Ill-favoured ones, two, assault Chris- 
tiana and Mercy, 262. 

Ill-will {see Prejudice). 

Irnmanuel's land seen from the palace 
Beautiful, 64. 

Inconsiderate, Mrs., a neighbour of 
Mrs. Timorous, 24. 

Innocent, a damsel in Interpreter's 
house, 266, 278. 

Innocent, Mount, where Prejudice and 
Ill-will cast dirt at Godly -man, 394. 

Interpreter's house, 26 ; its treasures, 
27 ; the picture against the wall and 
its interpretation, 27; the dusty 
parlour, 28 ; the two little children, 
Passion and Patience, 29 ; the fire 
against the wall, 81, 32 ; the stately 
palace, 32 ; the valiant man, 33 ; the 
man in the iron cage, 34 ; the man 
rising out of bed, and his dream, 
37 ; Christiana and her companions 
reach it, 266 ; are shown the won- 
ders thereof, 267 ; the man with the 
muck-rake, 268 ; the emblem inter- 
preted, 269 ; the spider on the wall, 
269 ; the hen and chickens, 271 ; the 
butcher and sheep, 271 ; the garden, 
271 ; the corn-field, 272 ; the robin 
and spider, 272 ; Interpreter's in- 
structions and similes, 273 ; the 
rotten tree, 274; Interpreter seals 
and sets his mark on the pilgrims, 
278 ; clothes them in white raiment, 
279; appoints Great- heart to be 
their conductor, 280; bids them 
God-speed, 280. 

Jacob's ladder, 316. 

James is catechised by Prudence, 302 ; 
falls sick in the Valley of the Sha- 
dow of Death, 328 ; is married to 
Phcebe, the daughter of Gaius, 371. 

Jerusalem blade, Valiant-for-truth's 
sword a real, 402. 

Joseph is questionedby Prudence, 303 ; 
is married to Mnason's daughter 
Martha, 381. 

Jury at Faithful's trial, their names, 
126 ; their verdict, 126. 

Knowledge, one of the shepherds 
of the Delectable Mountains, 158. 

Know-nothing, a neighbour of Mrs. 
Timorous, 248. 

Law, the works of the, unable to 
justify the sinner, 21. 
i. Lecherv, mv old Lord, of the town of 
Vanity, 124. 



Lechery, Mr., one of Madam Wan- 
ton's party, 250. 

Legality, Mr., of the city of Morality, 
his skill in curing a wounded con- 
science, 16 ; his son Civility, 16 ; his 
character exposed by Evangelist, 21 . 

Light-mind, Mrs., a neighbour of 
Mrs. Timorous, 248 ; one of Madam 
Wanton's party, 250. 

Linger-after-lust seduced by Simple 
and his companions, 287. 

Lions, Mistrust and Timorous fright- 
ened, by, 51 ; Christiana and com- 
panions arrive within sight of, 294. 

Little-faith of the town of Sincere, 
falls asleep on pilgrimage, is at- 
tacked by thieves, 168 ; is robbed of 
his spending money, 169 ; his jewels 
escape, 169; comparison between 
him and Esau, 171. 

Looking-glass in the palace Beautiful, 
its qualities, 398. 

Lot's wife, a monument to warn pil- 
grims, 142. 

Love-gain, a town of Coveting, the 
residence of Mr. Gripe-man, 132. 

Love-saint, a friend of Mnason's of 
Vanity, 377. 

Love-the-flesh, Mrs., one of Madam 
Wanton's party, 250. 

Lucre, hill, on which is a deceitful 
silver mine, 140. 

Lust-of-the-eyes, Lust-of-the-flesh, 
daughters of Adam the first, 86. 

Luxurious, Lord, of Vanity Town, 124. 

Maek or seal set upon Christian's 
forehead, 40. 

Martha, Mnason's daughter, is mar- 
ried to Joseph, 381. 

Martyrs, early, Stephen, James, Paul, 
Peter, Ignatius, Komanus,Polycarp, 
the progenitors of Christian, 356-7. 

Marvel, Mount, its wonders, 394. 

Matthew is catechised by Prudence, 
304 ; falls sick, 308 ; is married to 
Mercy, 358, 363, 371. 

Maul, Giant, attacks Great-heart, 332; 
is killed, 334 ; his monument, 334. 

Mercy resolves to acompany Chris- 
tiana, 248; sets out with her, 250; 
is left without the wicket-gate, 256 ; 
swoons, 256 ; is admitted, 257 ; re- 
lates her experiences,276; dreams in 
the palace Beautiful, 299; is courted 
by Mr. Brisk, 306 ; her reception 
of him, 306; his dismissal, 306; her 
sister Bountiful, 308 ; is married to 
Matthew, 358 ; her longings, 396. 



438 



INDEX. 



Mistrust (see Timorous). * 

Mnason, Mr., a Cyprusian, a resident 
in the town of Vanity, 376 ; wel- 
comes the pilgrims, 377 ; his daugh- 
ters marry Christiana's sons, 381. 

Money- love, By ends' companion, 132. 

Monster, a, out of the woods devas- 
tates Vanity, 382 ; its appearance 
and habits, 382 ; is discomfited by 
Great-heart and his companions, 382. 

Morality, the village of Legality, 16; 
its accommodations of easy acquire- 
ment, 16. 

Moses (the Law) attacks Faithful and 
leaves him for dead, 86. 

Mistrust, one of the robbers of Little- 
faith, 168. 

Mistrust and Timorous, fate of, 293. 

Monument of Christian's victory over 
Apollyon, 327. 

Much-afraid, Despondency's _ daugh- 
ter, resolves to accompany him, 425 ; 
she goes through the river singing, 
426. See Despondency. 

No-heabt, one of those beguiled by 
Simple and his companions, 287. 

Not-right, a pilgrim struck dead by 
lightning, 370. 

Obstinate and Pliable resolve to 
fetch Christian back, 6 ; overtake 
him, 6 ; Obstinate returns home, 7. 

Oldman, Lord of Vanity town, 124. 

Pagan, a giant persecutor, dead many 
a day, 80. 

Parlour full of dust, an emblem, 28. 

Passion and Patience, an emblem, 29. 

Peace, the chamber in the palace 
Beautiful allotted to Christian, 62. 

Penitent, a friend of Mnason's of 
Vanity, 377. 

Peter, beset by Mistrust and his com- 
panions, afraid of a sorry girl, 175. 

Phoebe, Gaius's daughter, married to 
James, 371. 

Philetus (see Hymeneus). 

Pickthank, one of the witnesses against 
Faithful, 122 ; his evidence, 123. 

Piety, one of the virgins of the palace 
Beautiful, 55 ; escorts Christiana on 
her journey, 318. 

Pillar erected to warn pilgrims, 321. 

Pitcher broken at the fountain, the 
token sent to Valiant-for-truth, 426. 

Pliable and Obstinate endeavour to 
fetch Christian back, 6 ; Pliable is 
persuaded to accompany Christian, 
7 ; their conversation by the way, 8 ; 



Pliable escapes from the Slough of 
Despond and returns home, 11 ; his 
reception, 12 ; a turncoat seven 
times worse than one unconverted, 
83; even the ungodly deride him, 83. 

Pope and Pagan, the cave of, two 
giants powerful in old time, 80. 

Prating-row, the residence of Talk- 
ative, 97. 

Prejudice and Ill-will, their attack 
upon Godly-man, 394. 

Presumption (see Simple.) 

Pride, one of Faithful's friends before 
conversion, 89. 

Pride of Life, one of the daughters of 
Adam the first, 81. 

Promise, a key which unlocks every 
door in Doubting Castle, 155. 

Prudence, one of the virgins of the 
palace Beautiful, 55 ; her conversa- 
tion with Christian, 57, 58 ; cate- 
chises James, 302 ; Joseph, 303 ; 
Samuel, 303; Matthew, 304; her 
counsel to the boys, 306; escorts 
Christiana on her journey, 318. 

Raiment, a change of, given to Chris- 
tian by the two shining ones at the 
foot of the cross, 40. 

Ready-to-halt meets Feeble-mind at 
Gaius's door, 373 ; is summoned to 
the presence of the King, 423 ; be- 
queaths his crutches to his son, 424 ; 
his departure, 424. 

Reliever rescues the pilgrims from the 
ill-favoured ones, 263. 

Riddle, Honest's, 362 ; Gaius's, 363. 

River of God, or river of the water 
of life, 145. 

River of Death, 212 ; its terrors to 
pilgrims, 212; bitter to the palate, 
but sweeter when 'tis down, 419. 

Roll, a sealed, given to Christian, 40 ; 
given in at the celestial gate, 219. 

Sagacity, Mr., 236 ; his account of 
the reports respecting Christian and 
his pilgrimage, 238. 

Salvation, a wall by the wayside, 40. 

Samuel is questioned by Prudence, 
303 ; is married to Mnason's daugh- 
ter Grace, 381. 

Save-all, Mr., a friend and companion 
of By-ends, 132. 

Save-self, turns Temporary out of the 
way, 206. 

Say-well, father of Talkative of Pra- 
ting-row, 97. 

Secret, a heavenly messenger, visits 



INDEX. 



489 



Christiana, 242 ; gives her a letter 
from the King of kings, 244. 

Self-conceit, a friend of Faithful's 
before conversion, 89. 

Self will, 350; his detestable tenets, 
350. 

Shame, a bold-faced villain, assaults 
Faithful, 91 ; is at last discomfited, 
92. 

Shepherds, the, on the Delectable 
Mountains, 158 ; invite the pilgrims 
to solace themselves thereon, 158. 

Shepherd-boy in the valley of Humi- 
liation, 323 ; his song, 324. 

Shining light, the, a beacon for Chris- 
tian, 5. 

Shining- ones, three, salute Christian, 
40 ; one comes to the pilgrims when 
entangled in the net of the Flatterer, 
179 ; he chastises them sore, 181 ; 
two meet and minister to the pil- 
grims, 214-216. 

Short-wind, one of those seduced by 
Simple and his companions, 287. 

Silver mine, a deceitful, on hill called 
Lucre, 140. 

Simple, Sloth, and Presumption, dis- 
covered asleep, with fetters on their 
heels, 42 ; Christian tries to wake 
them, 42 ; their reply to his appeal, 
42 ; their fate, 286, 

Sinai, Mount (the Law), its threaten- 
ing aspect frightens Christian, 16. 

Sincere, one of the shepherds on the 
Delectable Mountains, 158. 

Sincere, the town of, the birthplace 
of Little-faith, 168. 

Skill, Mr., a physician, sent for to 
Matthew, 308 ; discovers the cause 
of his illness, 308 ; his treatment, 
310 ; its effects, 311. 

Slay-good, Giant, 366 ; is attacked and 
destroyed by Great-heart, 368. 

Sleepy head, one of those seduced by 
Simple and his companions, 287. 

Sloth (see Simple). 

Slothful's-friend, the name of an ar- 
bour in the enchanted ground, 410. 

Slow-pace, one of those turned out 
of the way by Simple and his com- 
panions, 287. 

Smooth-man, By-ends' relation, 129. 

Snares plentiful in the dark valley,332. 

Spies, sons of the, endeavour to turn 
Christian back from the valley of 
the Shadow of Death, 74. 

Standfast is discovered on his knees, 
413 ; the cause thereof, 414 ; his re- 
sistance to Madam Bubble, 414 ; is 



summoned to his Master's presence, 

427 ; token of the truth of the mes- 
sage, 427 ; commends his wife and 
children to the care of Mr. Great- 
heart, 428 ; his message to them, 

428 ; his triumphant passage, 428. 
Stephen, the marytyr, an ancestor of 

Christian's, 356. 

Stupidity, a town four degrees north 
of Destruction, 369; the native town 
of old Honest, 338. 

Suicide, its lawfulness discussed be- 
tween Christian and Hopeful, 152. 

Superstition, one of the witnesses 
against Faithful, 122. 

Supper at Gaius's inn, the various 
dishes, 360, 361. 

Takeheed escapes the fate of Heed- 
less, 332. 

Talkative is discovered by Faithful, 
94 ; their converse, 94 ; Faithful ex- 
poses his character to Christian, 
96, 99 ; his parentage and residence, 
97 ; his powers of talk, 98 ; is ques- 
tioned by Faithful, 103 ; is offended 
by Faithful's plain speaking, and 
turns away, 108. 

Taste-that-which-is-good, the cook 
at Gaius's inn, 355. 

Tell-true incites Valiant-for-truth to 
follow Christian, 404. 

Temporary, of the town of Graceless, 
205. 

Time-server, Lord, a relation of By- 
ends, 129. 

Timorous and Mistrust encounter 
Christian on the top of the Hill 
Difficulty, 48 ; their reasons for 
turning back, 49. See Mistrust. 

Timorous, Mrs., dissuades Christiana 
from going on pilgrimage, 246; 
her arguments, 246 ; returns home, 
248 ; relates Christiana's story to her 
neighbours, 249. 

Tombs, blind men stumbling among, 
seen by the pilgrims from the top 
of Mount Caution, 160 ; the expla- 
nation thereof, 161. 

Tophet,4. 

Toobold (see Heedless). 

Tree of Life, the curative power of the 
leaves of, 73. 

Trial of Faithful at Vanity Fair, 120. 

Turn-about, Lord, a relation of By- 
ends, 129. 

Turn-away, of the town of Apostacy, 
carried off by devils, 167 ; the fear- 
ful inscription on his back, 167. 



440 



INDEX. 



Turn-back, a neighbour of Tempo- 
rary, 205. 

Two-tongues, Mr., the parson of By- 
ends' parish, 129. 

Uncertain, the native town of 
Feeble-mind, 368. 

Vain-confidence discovered in By- 
path meadow, 147 ; falls into a deep 
pit, 148. 

"V ain-glory, or pride precedes a fall, 
82 ; the native land of Formalist 
and Hypocrisy, 43. 

Vain-hope, the ferryman who helped 
Ignorance over the river, 220. 

Valiant-for-truth is attacked by Wild- 
head, Inconsiderate, and Pragmatic, 
401 ; his native country called Dark- 
land, 402 ; hindrance to his pil- 
grimage, 405 ; his synopsis of a pil- 
grim's progress, 406 ; is summoned 
to the presence of the King, 426 ; 
token of the truth of the summons, 
426 ; bequeaths his sword, 426 ; his 
triumphant passage over the river, 
427. 

Valley of Humility, in which Faithful 
meets Discontent, 89. 

Valley of the Shadow of Death, 73 ; 
its terrors, 75-79, 328. 

Vanity, the town of, where the fair is 
kept, 113 ; its change of feeling 
when visited by Christiana, 378. 

Vanity Fair, 114 ; its duration, divi- 
sions, and wares, 114; its antiquity, 
116 ; the presence of the pilgrims 
causes a hubbub, 116 ; they are 



apprehended, 118 ; the cage where 
the pilgrims are confined, 118 ; are 
put in chains, 120 ; are paraded in 
chains, 120 ; are remanded to pri- 
son, 120 ; aie brought to trial, 120 ; 
their indictment, 120; Faithful's 
answer, 121 ; bis defence, 124 ; his 
painful death, 127 ; Christiana and 
companions come in sight of, 375. 

Wanton, Madam, assaults Faithful, 
84 ; her entertainments, 250. 

Want-wit {see Fool). 

Watchful, porter at the lodge of the 
palace Beautiful, assists Christian 
past the lions, 53 ; calls out one of 
the virgins of the palace to receive 
Christian, 53. 

Watchful, one of the shepherds of the 
Delectable Mountains, 158. 

Wheel broken at the cistern,the token 
of the truth of Standfast's sum- 
mons, 427. 

Wicket-gate, the, pointed out to 
Christian by Evangelist, 5. 

Wildhead, Inconsiderate, and Prag- 
matic attack Valiant-for truth, 401. 

Women, Gaius praises, 358. 

Worldly-glory, a friend of Faithful's 
before conversion, 89. 

Worldly Wiseman meets Christian, 
13 ; advises Christian to get rid of 
his burden, 14 ; contemns Evan- 
gelist, 14 ; his counsel to Christian, 
14. 

Zion, Mount, the heavenly Jerusalem, 
216. 



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